This past week I read an article about ways to help your children develop a healthy body image. It basically comes down to this: Lying on the bed, trying to squeeze into our jeans and complaining about changing metabolism is bad. Promoting healthy food choices is good. Talking about diets or food restrictions and using the “f-word” (as in fat) is bad. Promoting lots of activity and movement is good. The writers made it clear that we, the parents, are responsible for setting a good (and healthy) example. Well, two points for me then because I exercise on a fairly consistent basis. They should know, however, that you are doing this as a way to be healthy and strong and not as a way to fit into the aforementioned jeans. (Darn,make that minus two points for me.) I find the whole healthy eating, positive body image, don’t want them to be part of the obesity epidemic, but don’t want them to struggle with anorexia dilemma completely overwhelming.
And if this article wasn’t enough, it seems as if every time I turn around, some headline reads: “Supper tonight: No fail recipes that even the pickiest eater will eat." Really? Every child? ‘Cause I am here to tell you that my children will Prove. You. Wrong. I started out with the best of intentions. In the beginning, I bordered on judgmental; failing to understand how children became picky eaters. I had listened to Dr. Phil about bringing supper out for breakfast the following morning and Super Nanny with her, “Eat this in the next 5 seconds or you will be in timeout.” I listened to Rachel Ray and how children are picky because we are picky and I say to all of them, “You were wrong!” Somewhere along the way, I know that I failed. I went soft. But the truth is I don’t want the dinner table to become a battle field. I’m tired of forcing vegetables down only to see them come right back up. I will never forget pressuring my then 3 year old son into eating a soft-shell taco. He gagged and threw it all back up. His older cousin who happens to have a very real fear of sick people was sitting next to him and more than two years later he still refers to it as “The Taco Incident.” I don’t think he’ll ever get over it.
I understand that my children need nutrients and fuel for their growing bodies. I nursed them both for a full year because the research said that would give them the healthiest start (well that, and because it burns calories like crazy!)We have egg sandwiches and milk for breakfast. We have turkey and cheese for lunch. We eat yogurt and healthy cereal. We eat 7 grain bread (which, I know isn’t the same as whole wheat, but don’t push me on this.)I get it. I really do, but I’m not willing to sacrifice the very precious hour that is dinner, with whining and vomiting and sitting for hours on end until we eat that last carrot. (And please don’t tell me to serve it with ranch, because I did that and my 2 year old daughter just licks it off, and now, we have a love affair with ranch but still “no likey” the veggies.)
So yesterday we were on our way to school when my son, Coulter, declared that he didn’t want to go. He loves school, so I knew he was just being silly, but I explained to him how there are children in other countries who can’t afford uniforms and so they don’t get to go school and we should just be grateful everyday for the opportunity to learn. During the conversation, I remembered something else from the body image article: we are supposed to be grateful for our bodies. So I continued with Coulter (trying to earn my 2 points back,) “And we should be thankful for our minds that help us learn and our strong legs that can run and our strong arms for throwing balls.” “Uhm, yeah, o.k. Mom. Can I get out now?”
And you know, maybe I’m setting an o.k. example after all because the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how truly grateful I am for my strong body. As a “pageant girl,” I’ve had my fair share of body image issues (and trust me when I say that I'm not a picky eater and at one time I had an extra 15 lbs. to prove it!) and yet I walked the runway in Atlantic City in a swimsuit with this body and almost ten years later, these strong legs ran a marathon. Yes, I am thankful each day for my health and for the health of my children. I’m not perfect, but I will do my best to set a good example. I will hide the chocolate and eat the donuts in secret. I will exercise purely for the endorphins; with no mention of jeans or buttons. And who knows, maybe one day that no-fail recipe will truly be no-fail. Until then, we’ll just keep poppin’ our Flintstones and banking on all that great nutrition they got in that first year of life!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
"You've got to move it! Move it!"
It is cold today in South Dakota. Actually, I don’t think cold even begins to cover it, because I talked to my cousin in Austin this afternoon and she says it’s cold there. Uhm, yeah, it’s 40 degrees in Austin. With the wind chill factored in, we are somewhere in the vicinity of 60 degrees colder than that. At this point, 40 would feel like beach weather. So, like I said, cold doesn’t even cover it. We need a new word. Saying it’s cold is like saying you’re tired when you’re pregnant. There’s tired and then there’s T-I-R-E-D and today, in South Dakota it is C-O-L-D. It is lose the feelings in your fingers and toes cold. It is “Praise Jesus I don’t have to work outside,” cold. It is, for the life of me I will never understand why anyone ever, ever, ever chose to settle here, cold.
And because it’s cold, our little neighborhood school of mostly walkers has been overtaken by car-pooling moms. Now, as a newbie to the whole car-pool thing, I will say that it took me a couple of weeks to get the hang of it. There are places you can park and places you can most certainly NOT park. There are places where your children can walk, and again, places where they most certainly cannot walk. And don’t even get me started on bicycles. There are rules. There are procedures. There is a certain car-pool etiquette to follow and social norms that are expected and while there are a lot of them, they aren’t too hard to learn. In fact, most of us get along quite well. But with the influx of cold-weather poolers this week, I think there are a few Moms (and I’m sure Dads) who need a review. This morning, a mom actually cut through the parking lot, in order to bypass all the car-pool traffic which goes around to the side, then cut in front of the line, drove through a cross walk and firmly planted herself next to the curb. Are you kidding me? Who does that? It looked like an episode of Law and Order when there just happens to be one parallel parking spot available and the cops swoop in and take it. Only she wasn’t a cop and it wasn’t a parking spot. I sooo wanted to honk at her, but we live in South Dakota. They don’t really do horns in South Dakota. Other women are talking on their phones, parking in the drop-off lane and going in with their children, and even creating their own car-pool lines, blocking the rest of us in. I know you must be thinking, boy she really needs some sleep because who gets this worked up over car-pool lines, but I think I’m worked up because as I looked around this morning, in addition to wanting to honk, I wanted to yell, “Our children are watching us!” This morning, my son learned that if he’s late and cold and wanting to get into school, all he has to do is cut in line. Kids aren’t born knowing how to push and shove their way into this world. We teach them.
So, it begs the question, what else do we teach them? Just random brainstorming here….we teach them to lie (even if it is little and white,) when they hear us do it. We teach them to break the rules when we’re too busy to respect them. We teach them to eat in front of the t.v. (What? Is that just me? I’m sorry, but my son quit napping at 2 ½. I was pregnant; sick and miserable. A couple of packages of fruit chews and an episode of Barney meant Momma got a nap!) We are teaching them to be impatient when we sing “You’ve got to move it, move it!” while waiting in line at McDonalds. (What? Is that just me too?) We teach them to be racist when we act suspicious around people of a different race or color. We teach them to say, “In a minute,” when we constantly answer them with, “In a minute!” Make no mistake, we are always teaching them. They are always watching; always listening. They are always learning.
It’s going to be cold again tomorrow, which I guess makes sense since it’s January. The car-pool invaders will be back and there will be someone who thinks she’s above the rules and no doubt, she’ll shove and push until her darling baby is safe and warm inside the school halls. I’ll be there wanting to yell sarcastic comments and wanting to honk, but I won’t. After all, there will be two students in my car who are watching and learning (and perhaps singing along with a few famous animals from Madigascar.)
And because it’s cold, our little neighborhood school of mostly walkers has been overtaken by car-pooling moms. Now, as a newbie to the whole car-pool thing, I will say that it took me a couple of weeks to get the hang of it. There are places you can park and places you can most certainly NOT park. There are places where your children can walk, and again, places where they most certainly cannot walk. And don’t even get me started on bicycles. There are rules. There are procedures. There is a certain car-pool etiquette to follow and social norms that are expected and while there are a lot of them, they aren’t too hard to learn. In fact, most of us get along quite well. But with the influx of cold-weather poolers this week, I think there are a few Moms (and I’m sure Dads) who need a review. This morning, a mom actually cut through the parking lot, in order to bypass all the car-pool traffic which goes around to the side, then cut in front of the line, drove through a cross walk and firmly planted herself next to the curb. Are you kidding me? Who does that? It looked like an episode of Law and Order when there just happens to be one parallel parking spot available and the cops swoop in and take it. Only she wasn’t a cop and it wasn’t a parking spot. I sooo wanted to honk at her, but we live in South Dakota. They don’t really do horns in South Dakota. Other women are talking on their phones, parking in the drop-off lane and going in with their children, and even creating their own car-pool lines, blocking the rest of us in. I know you must be thinking, boy she really needs some sleep because who gets this worked up over car-pool lines, but I think I’m worked up because as I looked around this morning, in addition to wanting to honk, I wanted to yell, “Our children are watching us!” This morning, my son learned that if he’s late and cold and wanting to get into school, all he has to do is cut in line. Kids aren’t born knowing how to push and shove their way into this world. We teach them.
So, it begs the question, what else do we teach them? Just random brainstorming here….we teach them to lie (even if it is little and white,) when they hear us do it. We teach them to break the rules when we’re too busy to respect them. We teach them to eat in front of the t.v. (What? Is that just me? I’m sorry, but my son quit napping at 2 ½. I was pregnant; sick and miserable. A couple of packages of fruit chews and an episode of Barney meant Momma got a nap!) We are teaching them to be impatient when we sing “You’ve got to move it, move it!” while waiting in line at McDonalds. (What? Is that just me too?) We teach them to be racist when we act suspicious around people of a different race or color. We teach them to say, “In a minute,” when we constantly answer them with, “In a minute!” Make no mistake, we are always teaching them. They are always watching; always listening. They are always learning.
It’s going to be cold again tomorrow, which I guess makes sense since it’s January. The car-pool invaders will be back and there will be someone who thinks she’s above the rules and no doubt, she’ll shove and push until her darling baby is safe and warm inside the school halls. I’ll be there wanting to yell sarcastic comments and wanting to honk, but I won’t. After all, there will be two students in my car who are watching and learning (and perhaps singing along with a few famous animals from Madigascar.)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
"No Buts (or Butts) About it!"
Last week, while visiting with my sister over a 1000 piece puzzle that we had (and have) no hope of ever finishing, she mentioned that her pastor was starting a new series called, “I’m a Christian, but….” It’s based off a book that I’ve since forgotten, but the idea is that we as Christians do things and make choices everyday that fall into the “but” category. “I’m a Christian, but I think it’s o.k. to cheat on my taxes,” or, “I’m a Christian, but I’m in love with my best friend’s husband.” And while those may be extreme examples, I couldn’t help but to think of all the ways that I too, am a “Christian, but….”
“I’m a Christian, but I worry about when our house will sell.”Or, “I’m a Christian, but I lose my patience with my children over the dumbest things (namely my 5 year olds stubborn refusal to wear anything that has a collar, buttons, tags, or stripes, and don’t even get me started on turtle necks and sweaters!) Yes, I’m a Christian but it’s hard to accept that fact that your son is going to live in ratty old t-shirts for the next umpteen years and that his teachers most surely think that his parents can only afford a 3 day rotation of clothes (and only 2 if we’re talking about jeans!)
Anyway, somewhere during the “I’m a Christian, but” conversation and the “No, you may not wear your short-sleeved, red, #12, t-ball jersey to Christmas dinner,” I remembered that once upon a time we had instituted our very own “no buts” policy. My son Coulter was about 3 when he started with the “but Moms.”
“But Mom, I’m not tired!” “But Mom, I don’t like milk.” “But Mom, I brushed my teeth yesterday!”
But, but, but! Until one day, I snapped. “NO BUTS!” I said, “I don’t care how you need to make your point, but you may not use the word but! NO BUTS!” (Looking back, it’s perhaps a lot to expect a 3 year old to come up with something like, “Mommy, I know you are very tired and you would like me to go to bed, however, it’s only 5:30 and I’m actually not feeling very sleepy.”) And yet, that’s exactly what I expected and it worked. At some point, he got the message. And I know he got the message because one day after I arrived home from work, our long-time babysitter pulled me aside and said, “Do you not let Coulter say ‘but’?”
“No,” I said, “Why? Was he saying it?”
“No, actually, he corrected me for saying it. Why don’t you use that word? Is it grammatically incorrect?”
“Well, I don’t really know about that, but I would just prefer he not use it.”
“O.K.,” she said, “but I say it all the time. I mean, what’s wrong with it?”
“Well,” (and I’ll break in here to say I know I use the word ‘well’ a lot, and if you knew our babysitter, you would understand why. Usually it’s followed by a long pause and deep breath) “Well,” I said, “some people think it’s o.k. but I just think it’s kind of ugly and I don’t want him going around saying it in front of his pre-school teachers.”
“So what do you say then?”
“Well, I use words like bottom and tushy (and my personal favorite) bumpa.” (With an oo as in zoo.)
“What are you talking about? Bottom???”Tushy???
“Oh, well, what are YOU talking about?”
And that’s when it hit me. We had just had a 15 minute conversation about two different words. Coulter had corrected her for saying 'but' and I had just given her a dissertation on why we don’t use the word 'butt.'
I burst out laughing, but having yet to see the humor (or even understand what had just happened,) she just stared at me in total confusion. “Oh never mind,” I said, “It doesn’t really matter. The bottom line is you are welcome to say both and he is not allowed to say either!”
So back at the puzzle (and my sister and our unsuccessful search for the puzzle edges,) and long into the night that followed, I continued to ponder the idea of “no buts.” Somewhere in the 30 minutes of sleep between dozing off around 5:00 a.m. and Emma Claire waking up at 5:30, I had an illuminating moment. I remembered, in fact, that last year instead of choosing a resolution, I had chosen a word. One seemingly random word to define my year: Illumination. And in that moment of illumination, just days before the end of 2010, I found my next word, or in this case, words. 2011 is the year of “No Buts!”
I am a loving, patient mother….no buts. I am a faithful Christian and know that God’s timing is perfect….no buts. I am a loyal daughter and a ‘my door’s always open’ friend…no buts. I am a supportive sister and aunt…no buts. I am a dreamer; I am a teacher; I am a writer.
There are many words that I could have chosen. 2011 will be a year of change; a journey; a time of transition; missing old friends and making new ones; finding new schools and new jobs and, in short, a new village. There are days that I don’t quite feel up for it and there are days that I can hardly wait to get started. But even with all the words left out there, I'm confident I chose the right one. 2011 is going to be an amazing, joy-filled year and I know that God has my family in the palm of His hand...no buts (or butts!) about it!
“I’m a Christian, but I worry about when our house will sell.”Or, “I’m a Christian, but I lose my patience with my children over the dumbest things (namely my 5 year olds stubborn refusal to wear anything that has a collar, buttons, tags, or stripes, and don’t even get me started on turtle necks and sweaters!) Yes, I’m a Christian but it’s hard to accept that fact that your son is going to live in ratty old t-shirts for the next umpteen years and that his teachers most surely think that his parents can only afford a 3 day rotation of clothes (and only 2 if we’re talking about jeans!)
Anyway, somewhere during the “I’m a Christian, but” conversation and the “No, you may not wear your short-sleeved, red, #12, t-ball jersey to Christmas dinner,” I remembered that once upon a time we had instituted our very own “no buts” policy. My son Coulter was about 3 when he started with the “but Moms.”
“But Mom, I’m not tired!” “But Mom, I don’t like milk.” “But Mom, I brushed my teeth yesterday!”
But, but, but! Until one day, I snapped. “NO BUTS!” I said, “I don’t care how you need to make your point, but you may not use the word but! NO BUTS!” (Looking back, it’s perhaps a lot to expect a 3 year old to come up with something like, “Mommy, I know you are very tired and you would like me to go to bed, however, it’s only 5:30 and I’m actually not feeling very sleepy.”) And yet, that’s exactly what I expected and it worked. At some point, he got the message. And I know he got the message because one day after I arrived home from work, our long-time babysitter pulled me aside and said, “Do you not let Coulter say ‘but’?”
“No,” I said, “Why? Was he saying it?”
“No, actually, he corrected me for saying it. Why don’t you use that word? Is it grammatically incorrect?”
“Well, I don’t really know about that, but I would just prefer he not use it.”
“O.K.,” she said, “but I say it all the time. I mean, what’s wrong with it?”
“Well,” (and I’ll break in here to say I know I use the word ‘well’ a lot, and if you knew our babysitter, you would understand why. Usually it’s followed by a long pause and deep breath) “Well,” I said, “some people think it’s o.k. but I just think it’s kind of ugly and I don’t want him going around saying it in front of his pre-school teachers.”
“So what do you say then?”
“Well, I use words like bottom and tushy (and my personal favorite) bumpa.” (With an oo as in zoo.)
“What are you talking about? Bottom???”Tushy???
“Oh, well, what are YOU talking about?”
And that’s when it hit me. We had just had a 15 minute conversation about two different words. Coulter had corrected her for saying 'but' and I had just given her a dissertation on why we don’t use the word 'butt.'
I burst out laughing, but having yet to see the humor (or even understand what had just happened,) she just stared at me in total confusion. “Oh never mind,” I said, “It doesn’t really matter. The bottom line is you are welcome to say both and he is not allowed to say either!”
So back at the puzzle (and my sister and our unsuccessful search for the puzzle edges,) and long into the night that followed, I continued to ponder the idea of “no buts.” Somewhere in the 30 minutes of sleep between dozing off around 5:00 a.m. and Emma Claire waking up at 5:30, I had an illuminating moment. I remembered, in fact, that last year instead of choosing a resolution, I had chosen a word. One seemingly random word to define my year: Illumination. And in that moment of illumination, just days before the end of 2010, I found my next word, or in this case, words. 2011 is the year of “No Buts!”
I am a loving, patient mother….no buts. I am a faithful Christian and know that God’s timing is perfect….no buts. I am a loyal daughter and a ‘my door’s always open’ friend…no buts. I am a supportive sister and aunt…no buts. I am a dreamer; I am a teacher; I am a writer.
There are many words that I could have chosen. 2011 will be a year of change; a journey; a time of transition; missing old friends and making new ones; finding new schools and new jobs and, in short, a new village. There are days that I don’t quite feel up for it and there are days that I can hardly wait to get started. But even with all the words left out there, I'm confident I chose the right one. 2011 is going to be an amazing, joy-filled year and I know that God has my family in the palm of His hand...no buts (or butts!) about it!
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