Me, Myself and Mommy

I’ve not seen Miss Mo’ for more than five minutes a day all week, and some time days, I’ve not seen her at all. I miss that smiling face, boogers and all.

If you’ve never thrown your hands up in frustration because your little one won’t eat anything with nutritional value that means one of two things. You either have a toddler with a palate of Anthony Bourdain who will eat anything you put in front of her, or you have magical powers and you need to share them with the rest of the class. I’m guessing that in 99% of you out there neither situation is the case, and you’ve been brought to tears or lost your temper because your toddler only eats a few select foods and none of them are nutritionally dense.

When Moanna was a wee one just learning to eat, she would eat anything – squash, green vegetables, fruits. She would eat almost anything you sat in front of her except for meat; she’s never been much of a meat eater. Dinner time with Moanna was always something we could look forward to because, “I wonder what new thing she’ll eat tonight?”

Fast forward to recent dinner time expeditions and now our attitude is, “I wonder if we can bribe her into eating something other than mac-n-cheese?” Dinner time has become a constant battle of wits and games. It’s exhausting. All parties involved are ready to throw dishes at each other by the time dinner is over.

“I don’t want this for dinner! I want a snack.”

“Moanna, this is what is for dinner.”

“I WANT A SNACK.”

“Moanna, this is what Mommy cooked for us.”

“I’M NOT HUNGRY! I WANT A SNACK.”

“Well if you want a snack, you’re clearly hungry.”

“SNACK.”

“NO.”

“I am NOT eating this stuff!”

Side conversation between Steve and I…

“She has to eat something.”

“Yes, she has to eat what I cooked.”

“Does it look like it’s going well?”

“No, but I am not going to become one of those moms that make seperate meals for the kids. Our children are going to eat what’s for dinner.”

Back to the main conversation…

“I’M NOT EATING THIS STUFF.”

“FINE! What do you want?”

“Mac-n-cheese please.”

“I’ve already cooked dinner. This one’s on you Daddy.”

My name is Renee, and I accept partial responsibility for the monster we’ve created. When I get home after a ten hour day, the last thing I want to do is spend whatever energy I have left on dinner time battles. It’s just so much easier to surrender because I have no fight left in me; I spent it all at work.

The worst part is that Moanna knows this. She knows that we’re tired and that we have too much on our plates. She knows when we’ve really had a rough day; she knows those are the days she can get away with cheese and fruit snacks for dinner. We’re all just puppets in her world. She gets complete enjoyment out of watching everyone dance around her.

We’ll I have news for you Missy. I’ve got no strings. This diet of snacking all day is going to stop. We’re also going to expand your palate beyond mac-n-cheese, cheese, bananas, fruit snacks, spaghetti, candy, strawberries, yogurt, cookies, cheesy eggs and snacks.

After a particularly brutal dinner time battle last week, I decided that I was done. I had worked a full day, gone grocery shopping, cooked Chicken Tortilla Soup from scratch and Moanna was not interested in what was on the menu. She was flexing her stubborn muscles to their fullest.

Steve and I were both tired. We were both on the verge of having a mental breakdown. He asked if he could make her mac-n-cheese. I said yes even though I meant no (she knows how to play us against each other). I was too tired to care at that moment and all I wanted to do was eat this delicious soup that I had spent the past hour making.

I took my frustration out on Steve. How could he let her have her way after so much time went into this dinner? He reminded me that I said yes. I told him that I really didn’t mean yes, and he should have known that.

This is where things can get controversial. Some of you are going to think I’m a cold hearted witch that is lingering on the edge of insane. That’s OK for you to think that because Steve will agree with you and it’s partially true.

This is where I stand on young children and food…

This is not a restaurant; I am not going to make separate meals for anyone who does not want what we’re having for breakfast, lunch or dinner. If you do not like what we’re having for dinner, that’s OK just don’t eat it. I am not going to ruin my dinner by arguing with you. If we are having dessert after dinner, you are welcome to have one serving of dessert if you tried at least one bite of everything for dinner. However, if you do not eat most of your dinner, you do not get to have snacks later, even if that means you go to bed a little hungry; trust me you won’t die. In the morning you are welcome to have what’s for breakfast; I will not make you eat last night’s dinner for breakfast. That’s just mean.

Steve’s feelings on where I stand…

I am cold hearted and evil. Moanna is too young to grasp the concept of “if you do not eat this, you will go to bed hungry.” He thinks it’s neglectful to put her to bed hungry. Moanna needs to eat SOMETHING even if it’s not good for her. If he didn’t make it clear the first time around, I’m evil.

My rebuttal…

It’s not evil or neglectful; it’s called tough love. Moanna is plenty old enough to understand that if she doesn’t eat what’s for dinner, she will go hungry – she is smarter than we realize. She’s not going to starve to death. It will only take a couple of times of standing our ground for her to realize that she can’t bully us into letting her get her way. She will learn to open up and like new foods.

Steve agreed to go along with my cold hearted plan as long as Moanna didn’t go to bed hungry more than a couple of nights in a row. I told him that it would only take a couple of times for her to get the picture. I also assured him that if I was cooking something I knew she loathed, there would be an alternate option but it would not be mac-n-cheese.

The next night she was not happy with us, but we stood our ground and she got the picture. The night after that she pitched less of a fit and ate a few bites. For the next few days she was off the hook because we were out and about, so we ordered foods we knew she would like. The same rules for dessert and snacks were applied.

Finally, on Friday night we had a serious breakthrough.

Steve and I made tilapia, brown rice and stir-fried veggies. Moanna immediately protested. She was not eating those vegetables. Had we lost our minds? Rice is not supposed to be brown, and fish is nasty. ”I just don’t want to eat this. I want something else,” and many other statements along the same line poured out of Moanna nonstop.

After about twenty-minutes I thought I was going to snap, but I didn’t have to go that far. A miracle happened.

“Moanna, after dinner we’re going to have special chocolate for dessert. Would you like to have some with us?’

“Yea!”

“Well in order to have special chocolate, I need you to take one bite of fish.”

Moanna hesitated for a minute, “OK… but just a little teeny bite.”

I gave her a bite. She took it. She studied it with her mouth for a minute chewing it, tasting it, and finally she swallowed it.

“Wasn’t that good?” I asked, really afraid of her answer.

“Yea. Can I have another bite?”

VICTORY!

Steve and I took turns giving her bites until it was almost gone. We even got her to eat two peas, and she finally agreed that rice can be brown sometimes.

I leaned over to Steve and whispered, “I win.”

“Si,” He responded.

After developing bald spots from pulling out my hair, it was time to go to the doctor and get a medical opinion. I did not want to institute a punishment plan if the potty accidents were something she really couldn’t help.

Somehow we managed to turn our quick trip to the doctor  into a circus act. I had to boil a plastic container for Moanna to pee in. Then we had to get her to actually pee in it. To do this Steve sat Moanna on her potty ring (you know the kind that fits on the adult potty so the little tykes don’t fall in), and held her in the air over the toilet while I held the cup under her. At first, she protested, “This is not how I go potty. I can’t pee in the air.” After making it clear to Steve and I that this was completely unorthodox, she peed. I was weed on a wee bit, but we got the sample. I put a lid on it, and put it in a plastic baggie.

The doctor checked her out and tested our sample for infection. The test came back negative, and her exam was all clear. He recommend giving her some cranberry juice on a regular basis to keep everything clear, and to be pro active. Other than that, he felt it was probably a behavioral issue.

Now that we know it’s probably not a medical issue, it’s time to institute the punishment plan. Just kidding – I don’t believe in punishing kids for potty accidents. I think it just sets them back further. However, I am instituting an action plan of sorts. It’s more positive reinforcement than punishment.

It’s time to bring back the Tic-Tac Method. We used this early on in our potty-training adventures, and it was quite effective. We’re going to try it out again. If she pees in the potty, she gets a tic-tac. If she pees in her pants, in her bed or anywhere that is not the potty, she sits in time-out for an hour while I lecture her about how angry it makes me when she does not pee and poop in the potty. JUST KIDDING – I told you I wasn’t into punishing kids for this kind of thing. If she has an accident, I will tell her how upset it makes me, and that it makes me really happy when she goes in the potty. I may through a few tears in there for effect; maybe if I cry, she will feel  bad for me, and won’t do it any more.

How do you handle potty-training setbacks? How do you keep your cool when you really want to freak-out because you are yet again cleaning up pee and poop?

I’m going to make this quick because I have to get back to pulling my hair out ASAP.

I’m going to list Moanna’s recent symptoms. Your job is to diagnose and cure the problem.

• Saturday, she spent half the day in timeout for various things
• Saturday afternoon she napped from 3:00PM-8:00PM**
• Sunday, she spent the morning in timeout for similar reasons as Saturday
• Sunday afternoon she napped from 4:00PM-9:30PM**
• Monday, Daddy came home, so all was right in the world
• Tuesday, she peed her pants 5 times, FIVE TIMES (she’s been pottytrained forever)
• Tuesday, very sassy and had out-of-control energy
• Wednesday, we woke up to find she had pooped in her bed
• Wednesday, she could not control her energy and was bouncing and screaming all evening
• Thursday, she peed her pants 3 times, THREE TIMES

So what is it? A rotten week? The terrible twos? A UTI? The joys of motherhood?

My home remedies are not working. Doctor, I need a diagnosis and a cure because I’m close to bald with all of the hair-pulling.

**Before you get judgmental on me, let me clarify. We were out of the house on Saturday and Sunday during usual nap time (for us it is 1:00PM), so Moanna had to lay down later in the day. I do not believe in missing naps, even if they are late, and even if Moanna doesn’t sleep, she still needs quiet alone time to rest in her bed. I also do not believe in waking sleeping children. I think the crazy long naps were because she would rather sleep than spend all of her day in timeout.

I am convinced that fish tanks were invented to teach children about death. The end.

Actually, I do have more to say…

We do not have pets (minus the fish that we will get to in a minute). We don’t have the time or money to properly care for a pet. Despite the fact that I really want a puppy (a basset hound puppy because oh my goodness the floppy ears are so darn cute), it’s not an option. We can barely take care of Moanna as it is.

We were rolling along  just fine with our pet free life until Christmas came, and my parents thought it would be a great idea to get Moanna a fish tank. “It’s just a little one and a half gallon tank. It will only hold a few small fish.  We’ll go out and buy the fish and help her set it up. All you’ll have to do is feed them.It’s not that big of a deal.”

LIARS!

For a few days, maybe even a week or so, thing went fine. Moanna fed the fish every night, and watched them eat for a few minutes. It was a nice way to transition into from running around the house like crazy to bed time.

One day, I looked in the tank, and someone was missing. I searched all over for that fish, but he was no where to be found. This would have been a prime opportunity to teach Moanna about how things die, but without a fish corpse, there would be no toilet funeral. As any mature parents would do, we pretended we knew nothing about it. There were still five fish in the tank, and they swam around so fast she wouldn’t notice.

A few days later, another fish went missing. Again, it left with no signs of its whereabouts. What on Earth? There was no evidence of fowl play, or any of that webby stuff that appears in fish tanks when there is a dead fish around. The tank was sparkly clean and none of the other fish looked suspicious or distraught. Again, another prime opportunity to teach Moanna about the circle of life, but with no fish body visual aid.

Another week of fish feeding passed with no mention of the missing fish. Moanna didn’t notice, and we didn’t dare bring it up. What would we say, “The aliens took them”? Probably not a good move because then we would have to explain the concept of aliens.

Last Monday, I was picking out jammies for Mo to wear to bed, when I looked in the tank and saw two fishing lying on the bottom of the tank. These were not the two fish that were missing. No, they were freshly dead fish. We started with six and a few weeks later we’re now down to two. Moanna would surely notice that big of a difference. What do we do? With fish bodies, we no longer had the excuse of not having anything to show of their passing.

I informed Steve of the news, and asked him what he thought we should do. He checked out the situation, and asked me to fetch a fork and a cup. I did as told. Steve extracted the dead fish and discarded them.

That’s right. We did not step up to the plate. In fact, we struck out. We had three prime opportunities to teach Moanna all about the circle of life, and we whimped out. Losers. Wusses. I know, I know. We should be ashamed of ourselves.

Get this…

The next morning Steve comes out of Moanna’s room and goes, “You’re never going to believe how many fish are in the tank!”

“On no, they’re all gone.”

“Nope. There are four!”

“No Way?”

“I’m not kidding. The two that were missing are back!”

I went in to count them for myself. He must have seen the reflection in the glass and counted the same two twice. I wasn’t buying it. I went in and counted… one… two… THREE… FOUR… WHAT!? Where did they come from? Where had then been? It’s a fish tank miracle.

As romantic as that may be, the reality is this. We think they swam or got sucked into the filter (they are tiny fish). When Steve extracted the dead fish, he pulled the filter out of it’s compartment a couple of times in a plunging motion to stir the water up. When he did this the fish escaped the dark filter cave and returned to their happy little tank to live happily ever after. At least that’s what we think happened… You never know, it could be a fish tank miracle. “God bless everyone.”

So yes, I fully believe that fish tanks were invented to teach children about death, but we were not prepared for such an opportunity. Plus our fish tank kit didn’t come with a pamphlet called, “Your New Fish Tank: A Guide to Teaching Your Children About the Circle of Life.”

Can you imagine the conversation we would have had to have with Moanna when the fish reappeared if we had told her that they died?

“Mommy! My fish are back! I thought you said that when things die, we don’t see them again until we die or until Jesus returns.”

“Ummm… ugghhhh…” “Are we dead? Is Jesus back?” “Ummm… ugghhhh… well… Surprise! We bought you new fish as a surprise.”

“Mommy! You did!?”

That’s how we do things in the Adam’s house. Fish are magical, and Santa brings babies.

The end.