inner pickle

how we become parents

It's not all about the birthing. Or the nursing or the sleeplessness or the timeless, endless juggle. Actually for me it's not about that at all. 

It's about the yards, really, the hard yards.

And if you'd told me in the beginning that holding a sick child would be a good and strong moment, I wouldn't have believed you. 

But that is where it's at.

When you hold your baby and they're burning up with a fever, I reckon that's when the real mother or father in you comes out. Not at breakfast, or storytime or bathtime, although these things are critical, it's at the bottom, right down in the dark and scary moments that we find ourselves as parents. 

It's doing the time. Carrying the torch. Holding the lantern. Particularly the first time they're really sick. You realise at that moment that you are fundamentally vulnerable. This little person is so much more important than anything else. You can feel the earth shift. Or maybe it's you. 

Little blighters. 

With Henry we found ourselves in hospital, in surgery, when he was only 6 weeks old. Inguinal hernia. I opted to hold him while they gave him the general anesthetic. For his four subsequent surgeries, I made Adam go in. There's nothing like holding a small person as they drift into unconsciousness, I could do without it again, thanks. 

Being there when they wake up, that's also a highlight. And if we're collecting parenting merit badges I'd have to list any time your child is strapped to an MRI or xray trolley, bound tight with adhesive medical tape to the table, another cannula in their arm. Oh Henry, I hope you become a wonderful cook and I can be a little less of a parent and a little more of an dinner guest.  

It'd be good to think you might get through without any of these moments. 

That's not going to happen. 

Unless you are so super careful that your smallie doesn't do anything or go anywhere you're probably going to cop a hard yard or two. 

My mother, like yours I'm sure, is full of war stories. A baby going into febrile convulsion in the car, miles from home. Glandular fever knocking a child out for three months. Children falling off the top of slippery dips. Broken bones. Dreadful burns. Spectacular injuries. 

And although they're awful, these moments really count. 

So there's more to my Good Friday story. As Adam and I were walking out the door between the doctors visit and the hospital, Tilly showed me her thumb and said, "it's really sore, Mum." I looked at it. I thought: please don't let that be an almighty splinter right under her thumbnail, the whole length of the nail. 

It was. With no end-y bit to pull it out. 

My excellent mother in law (who was a nurse for many years) reviewed the situation while Adam and I were with Ivy at the hospital. There was no way around it. She needed it taken out. So once Ivy was settled and had seen the pediatrician, Adam went back, got Tilly and took her into Accident and Emergency where she proceeded to involve the entire waiting room in her colouring in. 

While Ivy was having xrays upstairs in the children's ward, Tilly was bravely having the mother of all splinters extracted. I believe she was stoic and wonderful up until the point the doctor stuck a needle with local anesthetic under her thumbnail. Even then, according to Adam, she was pretty fantastic. And able to see the benefits of injury (chocolate). I saw her just after the extraction and she was pretty upset but valiantly holding onto her smarties. The doctor said to Adam that there was a reason this (splinter under fingernails) was used as a medieval torture device. It's bloody painful. 

I'm so proud of my stoic little person. What a champion. 

Even though there was still a big red line under the fingernail where the splinter had reached the nail bed, she checked up on her little sister, gave her a pat, and then suggested Adam take her home. Which he did.

Unfortunately you can't drink alcohol in a children's ward. Or even hot coffee or tea.

I've carried over my allowance. A nice glass of merlot. Which, frankly, makes me a better parent.

Cheers.

 

xxx 

apricot lunchbox snacks

My friend Lucie put me onto this book, for which I am very very grateful. 

Julie Maree Wood is full of truly excellent ideas about boosting the nutrition in the food of a small person who won't eat much of anything. 

These apricot balls, which she calls Iron Booster Balls, went down pretty well here. They look and taste like a treat! What's not to love.

Unless you buy organic apricots you'll be using apricots with preservative 220 (sulfur dioxide) which can be dangerous for asthmatics and has been shown to cause hyperactivity and behavioral problems. Like many additives and preservatives, really. 

I'll be honest: I don't always buy the preservative-free apricots, even though I know this. We have so few additives and preservatives around here that if I saw any effect of a handful of apricots a couple of times a week, I'd abandon them. Sometimes the rotten look of blackish organic apricots is a little too much for me. 

Apricot Balls (Iron Booster Balls)

Recipe by Julie Maree Wood, Feeding Fussy Kids

INGREDIENTS

½ cup dried apricots

½ cup dried peaches

2 tbsp boiling water

¼ cup almond meal

½ cup desiccated coconut

1 tbsp orange juice

2 tbsp wheatgerm

¼ cup skim milk powder

½ cup extra coconut

METHOD
Put the apricots and the peach into a food processor and pulse until finely chopped. Add boiling water and leave to soak for ten minutes. Add almond meal, coconut, wheatgerm, milk powder and orange juice. Blend until a firm dough forms. Add extra water if needed. Roll into balls and roll in coconut. Store in the fridge. 

xxx
 

feeding small children (or Part 2 of 2: Flawed)

It's hard, right?

And anyone with children under six who says

* oh my children eat absolutely everything 

* dinnertime is always such a relaxing time of day

* I satisfy my creativeness in the kitchen and my children play quietly somewhere else while I'm cooking

is a cyborg. 

Really, they are. If you know one of these people I suggest checking all electrical currents nearby. 

I know some households have share-cooking arrangement but I can only talk about the households I know where it's the women doing the thinking, shopping and cooking. (In the interest of full disclosure I should admit I have a share-cooking arrangement in my house. I shop and cook and Adam cleans. We've done it like this since way before kids which is lucky because I am the single most incompetent cleaner or dishwasher you've ever met. I hate cleaning, he hates cooking. Perfect.)

Anyway. Back to the dinner table at six o'clock at night with two tired children that just want something for dinner that they recognise. Except their mother is currently unable to face shopping for or cooking and certainly not eating any kind of meat at all. Not even tuna. So there's been a bunch of new dinners on the dinner table as I trawl through our vegetarian options and try to make sure everyone's getting enough iron and protein. 

A few nights ago I made a delicious Nigella Lawson recipe, Pumpkin and Goats cheese lasagna, recipe here. Really yummy. Henry, usually relatively compliant with anything to do with pasta and/or pumpkin, flat out refused to try it. I cajoled Tilly into at least tasting it and she spat it out. Which of course you're not allowed to do here, but I don't think she's ever done it. I wasn't actually mad, I was just dejected. Then there was the spinach and goat's cheese frittata. Also very tasty. No go. Not at all. I was out that night having dinner with girlfriends and I'd made the frittata and left it for Ad to take out of the oven. He retreated to tinned soup from the back of the pantry which they also refused on the grounds it wasn't "good soup" and they had vegemite toast. They were lucky it was Daddy, not sure I would have fronted up the third option. 

What are your tactics?

If they don't eat it, do they go to bed hungry?

I've never wanted food to become a battle. I don't make a big fiasco out of it and am relying on the fact that one day they'll understand I'm offering pretty tasty healthy food that is probably worth trying. 

I also keep forgetting that when Henry was the age Tilly is now, he pretty much ate tinned spaghetti for about six months and not much else. That was all I could get him to eat. It was a phase, he grew out of it. 

Tonight? I made broccoli, sweet potato and barley soup and Henry had two bowls and Tilly ate all hers, no argument. Weird children. 

It's just that when it's you in the kitchen, and you serve up something you know is nutritious, and there are arguments and tears and lying down on the chairs and deliberately dropping of things under the table, it's just depressing. 

So if it's ever happened to you, please know you're not alone. I'm raising my glass of water to you saying cheers, lady. 

And as soon as I finish breast feeding this baby not even born yet, I'll be raising my glass of shiraz to you which always made dinnertime refusal a bit easier to take. 

Cheers to that. 

xxx

who is feeding the children?

 

We were at The Big Banana in Coffs Harbour last week, such a hoot, and took the kids back a couple of days later to the water slide park they have there. Also a hoot.

More so for Tilly who tore down the biggest slides possible while Henry was much more reticent and preferred to sit at our picnic table and nibble rockmelon.

So while Adam went up and down enormous water slides with our adrenaline-junkie two year old, I sat with Henry at the picnic table and thought about food. Not unusual for me. 

On our table Tammy and I had food for five small kids. Rockmelon, multigrain vegemite sandwiches, corn thins spread with hummus and as a treat, muesli bars. 

Pretty typical, right? Probably what you're feeding your kids as snacks.

Just a little way off on the table next door was a big plate of lollies. Two plates of chips. Hot dogs. Red cordial. Henry kept a covert eye on the feast and would have insinuated himself to the party if given half a chance.

Because it was a party, the kids, older than ours, came leaping off the waterslides and onto the treats. And they were big kids. And I don't mean age-wise. Interestingly the two supervising adults weren't, but the 7 or 8 kids all were. 

It bugged me. I still can't articulate why. It's party food at a party, each to their own and all that. Except pretty obviously we have a problem with heavy kids. And who can say what these kids are eating for recess and lunch but somehow I'm doubting it's fruit and crackers and the occasional yoghurt.

Is the problem more input or lack of output?

And I found myself talking to Tam about it afterwards, wondering whether working women just get so sick of putting steamed chicken and vegetables in front of whining children when they know if they deliver chips or pizza they'll be thanked.

I felt like garroting myself. So it's women's fault? Childhood obesity is the fault of worn out working women?? 

Of course it isn't.

And of course it's not about apportioning blame, it's about everyone making fresh good food choices. Which is what Jamie Oliver tried to do in English schools and what canteens around Australia are attempting to do. Wouldn't it be interesting to review school canteens by area and see if the quality of food offered is even. 

My friend Estelle gave me a fabulous book last Christmas called Eating Between The Lines: Food and Equality in Australia which I thought was very interesting although I felt the research didn't go far enough. 

It's something I'd like to do a lot more reading on.

One thing worries me though: it's so much harder to swap kids from chips to carrot sticks at 10 yrs old than at say, 3. We control their food in the early years, although I'm careful to stress that women are not responsible for this health epidemic. We tend to shop, prepare and serve. 

Maybe there's a way to make it easier for people. 'Grub Organics' weeks-worth-of-snack-boxes? Organic, additive-free, low sodium, low sugar, low fat snack options. 

Maybe a party pack option.

Hey, there's a business idea in that.

Your thoughts?

xxx

slow learner

You know, I talk a lot. 

I can probably really go on about stuff sometimes. 

And notwithstanding everything I know and have learnt (mostly the hard way), I can still be bloody stoopid sometimes.

Like today. When Henry and Tilly were going BESERK at playgroup and I was thinking they were both wacko but maybe they'd been cooped up this week because of the rain? 

And then I remembered they'd both eaten quite a lot of pickles for morning tea. 

Specifically, these. 

And so I looked on the back. Which I usually do before I buy anything but I'd had a rough day yesterday and was enjoying grocery shopping late at night listening to my ipod so I was lazy. I didn't check the ingredients list.

And there it was. Colour 102. Real name Tartrazine and proven to be linked to hyperactivity, migraines, behavioral problems and chromosome damage. As if anyone would knowingly feed such stuff to their kids let alone someone who claims to know better. 

Please check the numbers in the food your kids are eating. My kids went mental today after eating these. Yelling (more than usual), throwing themselves on the ground, oppositional. Miserable. Hard work. 

If you're ever not sure, check Additive Alert, it's a fantasic online resource.

Wonder what will happen to Adam if he eats a whole jar, less what the kids had??

Let's see.

xxx

the fun police

Something my friend Estelle wrote in my comments on an earlier post today made me stop and think: am I a Food Nazi? 

Estelle was commenting on the effect of food colouring on the output of children (oh yes, in so many ways), and I was thinking about Henry's birthday in August.

We went to a children's birthday party recently that had lots of great kid-friendly food, mostly home made, but the little bit of sugar that was there was leapt upon and the kids predictably went a little bit crazy.

I had blithely promised myself that we'd have a sugar/additive free party when Henry's comes around. Will his friends ever come back, do you think? 

I should mention too, the chocolate slice (previous post) is of course not recommended for children! I've boxed the remainder of mine up to take to work (to send my workmates into a sugar coma) and Henry and Tilly got puny 1cm squares today as a highly negotiated reward for not tearing the doctors surgery apart after hanging out in the waiting room for about 50 minutes again. 

(Trip for Tilly this time. Ear infection. Lovely. Lets talk more about food.)

Anyway, I'm prepared to be unpopular.

The only way you'll get your kids to eat lots of fresh fruit and snack on quiche is to offer it to them, and not offer them too many alternatives. Of course they'll choose a pretzel over a carrot. I would too. 

It becomes harder when you're out though, right? I have been known to remove seaweed crackers from my children's hands on the way to their mouths (they're full of MSG.) Definite Food Nazi tendencies.

I reckon just offer them as much fantastic food as you can. This is my strategy anyway. If you teach them to love food that looks good, smells good, feels good, and tastes like real food, that's probably the best you can do.  

Here's one. Quiche. Lovely for lunch, delightful for dinner, awesome in a lunchbox.

First: pastry. I know the sheets of pastry you can buy are pretty good. But the pastry you make yourself is much much better.

One thing Nigella (as in, Lawson) does really well is pastry.

Here's her shortcrust which I made yesterday for the base. It sounds like a faff, and it obviously takes longer than defrosting a sheet of Pampas, but damn it tastes good.

Pastry (from How to Be A Domestic Goddess):

250g plain flour (she suggests Italian 00)

125g cold unsalted butter, cubed

2 egg yolks

2 tblsp iced weater

1 heaped tsp salt

1 tblsp caster sugar

Put flour and butter on a dish and put into freezer for 10 mins. Stir together yolks, water & salt in a cup and put cup into fridge. When time's up, tip the flour & butter into your food processor, add the sugar and pulse to combine. You want a soft crumbly mass. Bind with the yolks, water & salt and when it looks like on the verge of coming together tip the pastry out and wodge together with your hands. ('Wodge' is such a Nigella word. I'm sure she made it up.) Wrap in clingwrap and put in fridge to rest. 

I let it rest about 15 mins then rolled mine out, spread it over my quiche tin, and then blind baked it on 180 deg for about 15 mins.

For my quiche filling I used:

1 onion, finely chopped

250g rindless bacon finely chopped

10 free range eggs

3 tblsp cream

salt & pepper

big handful fresh chopped basil

Fry the onion in a little olive oil in a pan until translucent. Add the bacon and stir until cooked. 

In a bowl beat your eggs and the cream together well. Add the seasoning, the herbs and the onion and bacon. 

Pour into your blind baked pastry and cook for about 25 mins at 180 deg. 

Good stuff.

xxx