Shamrock Shenanigans

Happy St. Patrick's Day! 

One of my biggest struggles as a parent is a common one -- making sure my children are eating well.  My firstborn, Toad, is very picky, and while Birdy eats the veggies on her plate first, she can also get in a rut.  Last night, in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I thought I would add a tiny bit of Irish flare to Taco Tuesday -- green peppers shaped liked shamrocks.

A little history here: for the first three years of his life, Toad had a mild allergy to milk protein (casein), which is in just about everything in one form or another.  He ate a lot of vegan items and we developed the unfortunate habit of the parents and child eating different meals.  He has outgrown this allergy for the most part, although he still drinks soy milk (only chocolate). 

We did things a bit differently with Birdy.  For one, I was able to breastfeed her for a longer period of time, and I put off feeding her solid foods.  I made 75% of her baby food.  She was in a child care setting with home-cooked meals and got used to trying new things every week.  She's definitely the better eater, although now that she is (almost) three she is giving us a lot of attitude about anything new.

They have their "kid-food" favorites -- convenience foods that busy parents often fall back on: chicken nuggets, "tiny" pizzas (Red Baron singles), pbj's, hot dogs (every now and then) and of course, McDonald's Happy Meals. 

And they like tacos, although I should clarify with a definition.  Tacos, to Toad and Birdy, are shells (or chips), ground turkey taco meat, and ketchup.  No cheese.  No beans.  No salsa, veggies, sour cream, guacamole.  Just ketchup, and for Birdy, a side of black olives.

I used a little cookie cutter to cut Shamrocks from the green pepper and placed one on each plate.  Drama ensued.

Toad: "Do I have to eat the whole thing?"
Birdy: "I don't like it!" (without even trying it.)
Toad: "Can I take just a nibble?"
Hammer Guy: "How did this end up on my plate?" (my husband, who was sitting next to Birdy.)
Toad: "The meat always falls out of the shell!" (with much whining.)

Finally, I bargained.  I know you're not supposed to bargain at the dinner table.  I've read all the books.  I know that I am partly to blame for our dinnertime battles.

Sometimes, though, it works.  I told them that if they didn't eat their green pepper shamrocks, they couldn't have a treat.

Toad put his shamrock on a tortilla chip and took two minuscule bites, sobbing and nearly gagging on the thing.  Birdy insisted that she would not eat it until she saw Toad with his half of the ice cream sandwich.  She then crawled on my lap and said, "Feed me."  She took a bite, said, "Oh, I like it!" and proceeded to devour it.

Toad later told me that he tasted that green pepper all night long.  "I tasted it at 6 o'clock.  I tasted it at 7 o'clock.  I tasted it at 8 o'clock."

I'm hoping for a little less drama tonight.

Stay Tuned for Further Exciting Adventures of.... Butt Boy?!?

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I am fortunate to be able to work remotely, which means I wear old jeans, flip-flops (even in winter), and sweatshirts (today's choice: Hall & Oates).  I am also able to pick Toad up after school.

Last Thursday, I waited for him in the vestibule as usual.  His teacher, Mrs. Bee, waved to me as he pushed the door open and asked if I could wait for a few minutes while she walked the other kids down to the bus.  Toad's face paled and fell, and I knew something was up. I asked him if he had gotten into trouble and he nodded.   And then started to cry.

He was crying and speaking so quietly and with gasping breaths and trying to tell me what had happened, it took several attempts for me to understand:  he was playing Scrabble, Jr. with a classmate and another classmate (one of his BFFs, incidentally) had reported him for spelling buttboy.

I couldn't help myself.  I started to laugh, but quickly recovered in order to comfort and mildly scold him at the same time. 

The opportunity had presented itself.  The letters were all there, waiting for him to put them together in such a way.  And he ran with it. 

I asked him my standard question:  "Do you feel bad for what you did or do you feel bad because you got in trouble?"

He's six.  His usual answer is that he's sorry that he got in trouble, but this time, something had changed.  He told me that he was sorry for what he'd done. 

It was one of those moments where, as a parent, you're exasperated and proud all at once, brought about by a silly word in Scrabble, Jr.

The B word.  Buttboy.  Could have been a lot worse.

A New Blog

My name is Sara. I will turn thirty-seven next week. I have a wonderful husband, two darling, devilish children, a full-time job as a Human Resources Manager, and a house that somehow ended up with four bathrooms and a very small mudroom. I write fiction, mainly for young adults.

I play many roles: an employer, an employee, a writer, a reader, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, a teacher, a cleaner, a laundress, a chauffeur, a cook, an amateur birthday-cake designer, and the list goes on.

But mostly, I am a mother, which encompasses so many of the other roles.

I've started this blog to share my experiences as a Not-So-Perfect Mom. There are so many things I would love to do for my family -- go green, grow a garden, cook healthful -- yet delicious -- meals that they will actually eat, plan activities and crafts and art projects.... that list could go on and on as well. And I do some of these things, but not all the time, and some not very well, and there are some days when I would let my children eat chicken nuggets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if they asked.

I may not be perfect, but every day I do the best that I possibly can for my family, and that's okay -- just like so many other moms out there, whether they work outside the home or not.  I just drink another cup of coffee and move on to the next load of laundry.

So read on. Laugh. Share your own not-so-perfect experiences. And just do the best you can.