I’ve never been able to stand soggy cereal. In fact, when I eat cereal even now, most people are surprised at how little milk I put in.

I used to eat Corn Chex dry, and Froot Loops, well, let’s just say that the less said about Froot Loops the better. I’m a sucker for that toucan.

My children have no such aversion.

Good thing, too, because Rafael takes so long to eat his cereal sometimes that it’s soggy long before he gets to the bottom of the bowl. Rafael’s got lots to say and can’t let something as simple as mealtime interfere with his need to express himself.

In fact, even 20 minutes after he stops eating his cereal, he might start up again, despite the fact that the flakes of Uncle Andy’s Cereal (known elsewhere as Honey Bunches of Oats) now consist of more milk than cereal.

And Markus, well, he happily finishes up whatever cereal his big brother leaves over. We like to joke that he’s our human garbage disposal.

At least it doesn’t go to waste.

I love the concept of cooking and introducing one’s children to new foods in fun ways.

But let’s face it, I’m just not that kind of girl.

Take those beautiful kitchens with the cooking island in the middle with the rack hanging from the ceiling with all the pots and pans hanging from it, everything all spotless and dust-free and fantastic.

Love. It.

I’ve always wanted one of those kitchens.

Of course, the idea that I’d actually use said kitchen is pretty funny to most folks who know me, not least of all my husband. Though I am really good at making seafood (I lived in South Florida for six years) and step in whenever we get shrimp, scallops or the like.

So when friend and fellow blogger Linda Lombroso pointed me toward the In the Motherhood site the other day, specifically to the recipes of Arlen Gargagliano, a chef and cookbook author (and mother of two) who lives in New Rochelle, my first reaction was, “cool!”

And it is cool. Gargagliano shares all sorts of ideas that sound easy and quite doable. Read more of this entry »

Well, I found out why my oldest doesn’t like to eat peanut butter on her toast.

This came up earlier this week when my youngest was given horse tablets for an ear infection. Anyone who’s taken prenatal vitamins remembers the size of those things. I was astounded that the same size pills were given to my youngest for an ear issue. Well, she couldn’t swallow them—liquid has been standard in our house since my babes were very small—and we started debating what to do next.

One suggestion was to cut them in half and take them separately, but that left sharp edges. Then we considered grinding them up and sprinkling them on her dinner, sort of what we used to do with our dog back in the dark ages when I was a child. We eventually just called the doctor’s office and had them send a new prescription for chewables.

However, during the debate and the half-made joke about grinding them up, my oldest reminded us that we had done just that when she was a child. Her asthma medication came in capsules filled with little pills that we emptied, she tells us, onto the peanut butter in her lunch sandwich and breakfast toast. The bitterness of those granules didn’t turn her off peanut butter, but it did link peanut butter on toast to the pills, she said.

I guess the next mystery to solve is why she doesn’t like chocolate cake. One can but wonder.

The British government’s Food Standards Agency (I guess the equivalent of the U.S. FDA) had some good tips on its website on how we can get our children to eat a more varied diet.

For the first item, I’m not sure that’d work with Rafael. The child refuses to eat if more than one food is on his plate at a time, unless the second food is a condiment (such as last night, when he decided he was going to eat pickles for dinner, he refused to allow the ham to be on his plate at the same time, but the mustard was OK —  yes, I did just say, in a roundabout way, that he put mustard on pickles).

Anyway, here are the tips:

• Increase the amount of colour on the plate. This might encourage children to try food that they usually refuse.
• Show children a new food a few times before you give it to them to try.
• Try to make meals a social occasion, eating the same food as your children, at the same time.
• Encourage children to help prepare new foods. Research suggests they will be more likely to try them.

Another wise thing the experts offer is that you should try not to get into confrontations about eating food, because that can make things worse.

Though, truth be known, we have been known to threaten to erase all his recorded Go Diego Go! episodes if he just refuses to eat. That works, too. He’s kind of like a cat  —once he realizes he’s not going to win, he suddenly wants to do what you’ve been asking him to do, but acting as if it was his idea all along.

Sigh.

It’s funny what happens once toddlerdom takes hold.

From the very earliest days, we never had to give a new food to Markus more than once to get him to try it.

I mean, each time we had a new flavor of baby food, we’d stick the spoon in his mouth and he’d chow down.

Markus likes to eat. Always has.

But he’s been declaring his independence lately, the Thomas Jefferson of toddlers.

And so sometimes it takes a few tries before he will accept something new. Or, even, something old.

He’s always liked ham or whatever meat we’re having for dinner, but last night when we made a ham (it’s amazing how easy it is to spend $300 at a supermarket when you have two children — or, at two markets. This year, we got the free ham from Shop Rite and the free turkey from Pathmark), Markus became a refusenik.

The only thing he would (finally) eat was bread with butter. He crammed those little bread squares in his mouth like there was no tomorrow.

This has become more common of late. I can only hope that once he emerges from the other end of toddlerhood that he goes back to being the adventurous eater he’s always been.

His older brother ate whatever we did until he hit full-on two-ness and then was the biggest refusnik on the planet. Sometimes we worried whether he was eating enough, because he’d just stubbornly resist any efforts we’d make to feed him. At one point, he was eating cereal, pancakes, cheese and bread and butter almost exclusively, it felt like.

He is much better now, and has a pretty varied palate once again. Hopefully, Markus will again, too.

Photo by Kylene Lloyd/The (Louisville, Ky.) Courier-Journal.

So, we all woke up a little late this morning and so didn’t have time to make the usual oatmeal.

For Markus, that wasn’t so much of an issue. He ate two Yo Baby yogurts and was happy as a clam.

For Rafael, well, he had spied a leftover fortune cookie in the kitchen and that’s all he had in mind.

“No, Rafael,” I told him. “We don’t eat cookies for breakfast.”

“For lunch?” he asked, hopefully.

“Well, after lunch,” I offered.

“For dinner?” he inquired, still hopeful.

“After lunch or dinner,” I said.

“Then can we have lunch?” he asked, smiling his “Aren’t I so adorable even though I’m a complete mischief-maker?” smile.

I would have explained that that wasn’t how it worked, but I knew he knew that.

He got a bagel (no butter, cream cheese, he likes ‘em plain).

Los Angeles Times photo by Christopher Reynolds of an employee at the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory in San Francisco’s Chinatown.

In the interest of saving money, I usually buy my produce at the “not our best but still fine” kiosk that lurks back by the fish department in my local supermarket.

I picked up a package of two small eggplant last week just on spec, then began looking through my cookbooks for recipes.

I found one for ratatouille and figured I’d give it a try and see if my vegetable-impaired youngest would eat it. I had no concerns about the oldest, who has broadened her tastes so much that she puts pesto in the tuna salad. Who’d have thought?

The dish completed, I put in on the table along with the pork loin, potatoes and salad that I planned for the meal. Would she eat it?

Well, she took a small piece. And I believe she dipped a fork in it and licked the fork. I didn’t see it, mind, but I have my illusions. Read more of this entry »

If you ever needed more evidence the French approach to food (particularly when it comes to feeding kids) trumps ours, check out a great old post revived on Friday by one of my favorite blogs, The Expatriate’s Kitchen. It’s a lunch menu from a French pre-school.

Vive la difference!

Pizza, yes (three-cheese with sides of sauteed green beans and filet of cod), popcorn chicken, no.

I would have volunteered for parent story hour on Friday:

Carrot Soup
Roasted Pork au Jus
Buttered Noodles
Comte cheese and Fresh Fruit

Rafael’s favorite new snack is the Goldfish crackers made from pretzels. I’d say it’s Markus’ favorite, too, but he eats most things with the same gusto, so it’s kinda hard to tell.

So when I was perusing the web last week for blog fodder (there’s only so long I can expect anyone to read entries entitled “I like meat.” and “The taste of toothpaste.” Which, speaking of, we went back to the old blue-colored Oral-B Disney Cars toothpaste over the weekend instead of the red-and-white Aquafresh Dr. Seuss toothpaste and Rafael was quite pleased. “It doesn’t taste like sour pickle!” he joyfully declared.) and I stumbled upon this article by the Associated Press. The premise was, “Kids who load up on salty meals and snacks get thirsty, and too often they turn to calorie-filled sodas.”

Apparently, a British study published recently in an American Heart Association journal determined this stunning fact. (Please read the end of that sentence with appropriate sarcasm.)

I mean, if your child is drinking lots of soda, that’s going to translate into fat on their little bodies. If you don’t realize that, I can’t help you.

Read more of this entry »

My oldest was bored last weekend, so she whipped up a batch of blueberry muffin tops.

It’s a tradition in our family that bored children become bakers. When my chicks were little and wanted something to do, I always suggested they make cookies, cupcakes, muffins or brownies.

Treats are their own reward, I figured. When the babes were little, I helped with the hard parts. Now that they’re mostly grown, I get sweet-smelling surprises when I walk in the door.

And whether my son will follow the family tradition (he remains, at 19, afraid of turning on the gas stove because his middle school teachers impressed him with fear of starting a fire), his two sisters certainly break out the sweetcream butter and oatmeal when they’re tired of reading, playing video games or avoiding house work.

So this past weekend, the senior of my girls surprised the family at lunchtime with muffin tops. Yum. I figured the calories involved in eating one was worth the fun of watching her and her baby sister (they’re separated by 8 years) gossiping over the mixing bowl.

One of the nice things to think about when you remember that you reap what you sow.