Momiversity: Helping Your Child with Extreme Picky Eating

So I picked up this book because I was sick and tired of Judah's picky eating.

Ever since Judah was a 15 months old he would eat only a few "safe" foods. It was exhausting always preparing separate meals for the kid and the adults and never being able to eat in a restaurant or at a friend's home without always packing Judah's "safe" foods.

I always thought Judah would just "grow out of it". I mean, toddlers grow out of all kinds of stuff, right? You know that old saying - if you don't like how your toddler behaves, just wait awhile and it will change!

But when Judah was four, I realized, this is not really getting better. I was still hopeful that he would eventually turn into a "normal" adult on his own, but then I met this young man who told me he literally only ate a couple "safe" foods his entire life until he was POST-COLLEGE because he was an extreme picky eater.

Then the panic set in.

And the book reading commenced.

I chose this book because it was highly recommended on Amazon and it follows the basic tenets of Ellyn Satter, the Godmother of child feeding issues.

So here are my thoughts and summaries in no particular order:
--This book helped me realized I should be grateful cuz there are a LOT of kids out there who are wayyyyyyyyyyyyy pickier than Judah.

--This book spends 80% of its pages talking about what NOT to do (which is everything that I've been doing!)

--You should NOT make dessert conditional on eating a good meal first. You should let the kid have his dessert first if he wants. I'm sure this advice is totally supported by professionals everywhere, but honestly, I'm prob gonna ignore this advice cuz it's just not how our culture eats. It's just...too weird.

--You should never pressure your kids, either by making negative comments (shaming, disappointment, threats of punishment) OR by making positive comments (praising 'good eating'). I dunno, what's wrong with a little positive pressure? Isn't that called "encouragement"?

--You are in charge of WHAT is offered and WHEN it is offered. The kid is in charge of HOW MUCH he eats. Basically the age old adage - you can lead a toddler to broccoli, but you can't make him eat it.

--You should make mealtimes as pleasant as possible. Make it a time for family bonding. Eat at the table without distractions (electronic devices, toys, tv, etc.). Make it pleasant and free of pressure and anxiety.

--Always give them a "safe" food so there's always something on the table they can eat.

--You should always have a "spit out" napkin next to them at meal times so they can spit out whatever food they don't like on it discreetly and without it being a big deal. It's a safety blanket for them!

In a nutshell, this book was about trying to reduce anxiety and pressure surrounding meals as much as possible. The bottom line is pressure of any kind only BACKFIRES and makes your kid a worse eater in the end because of all the negativity surrounding the activity.

I think that's probably true for kids who are EXTREME extreme picky eaters. But I think Judah actually benefits from mild pressure...very, very mild.

One friend suggested I make a chart of foods Judah can try and each time he tries it, mark it off the chart. And keep doing it until Judah has tried it about 15 times since that's the average amount of time it takes for one's palate to accept a new taste.

I've tried that a few times, and I have to say, that bit of advice was more helpful than all 213 pages I've read of this book. Because of Judah's "I tried it chart" he now eats spaghetti WITH SAUCE and pizza WITH SAUCE and cheese quesadillas.

Which just goes to show, as with any parenting advice/book, you gotta know whether or not it applies to your child. I thought this book was going to give me lots of great advice like that, but it wasn't addressing my, apparently "run of the mill" picky kid. It was talking about the way extreme outliers, of which Judah is thankfully not one.

But the book did help me realize that I have to put in a LOT more thoughtfulness and planning into my meals than I currently do. I've been slacking.

I should be proactively trying to introduce new foods into Judah's diet instead of relying on the old standbys. I should be creatively thinking of how to "bridge" the old foods and the new foods by adding sauce here or a new ingredient there.

Instead, I've been just throwing something together at 6:05 pm when everyone's super cranky and hungry because dinner should have already happened at 6:00 pm.

Ugh. As someone who has never enjoyed cooking and domesticity, this is a huge challenge for me. But whatcha gonna do? Kid's gotta eat.

Yet another way in which motherhood is pushing me to do things I wouldn't otherwise do...sigh.

Momiversity: A Mother's Reckoning

This week my kids are enrolled in a Summer camp program for 2.5 hours each morning. Hallelujah!

It's not actually enough time for me to drive home so I decided to just camp out at a nearby Starbucks and catch up on all the parenting books I never had time to read.

My classroom for this week.

And then I thought, I should blog about what I read cuz that greatly enhances my comprehension. And so I bring you this new series of blog entries: MOMIVERSITY

Today's book review is actually not one of typical parenting advice books - it's a memoir by arguably one of the most "failingest" moms in history (no, not me, surprise!) - Sue Klebold.

Remember the Columbine shootings? Sue's son, Dylan, was one of the two shooters. Sixteen years later she revisits every detail and reveals private moments and diary entries from her and Dylan's journals, trying to put the pieces together and answer the question - HOW?

How could I not have known what my son was planning?
Indeed, how could I have absolutely no idea whatsoever, not even a tiny hint?

And how could I resist such a juicy read? Part anti-parenting manual, part mystery novel, part horror show. Total catnip to me. And I devoured it. All 280 pages of it.

And in the end, after all that sturm und drang, I really can't say I came away with anything conclusive. Any real answers.

Sue talks about her deep guilt and regret. Her genuine befuddlement and lack of foreknowledge. Her happy home life. Her total lack of any kind of concern over Dylan whatsoever because he was her "sunshine boy," her easy child that never caused her any worries at all.

Even just 3 days before the shooting, Dylan went to his senior prom and had a really happy, jovial time just being a regular teen.

Is Sue just blinded by her need for self-justification or genuinely so obtuse and unaware that she lacks the psychological capacity to see the problems surrounding Dylan's upbringing?

I don't think so. It doesn't appear that Sue is any more obtuse or oblivious than the average, reasonably loving and attentive mom. In fact she seems more loving and attentive than average and in all respects, their home life was as good as anyone can hope to provide for their kids - good suburb, happy marriage, good friends from childhood through adolescence, etc.

So then how? How did this happen?

Sue's catchall answer is not that helpful - brain illness.

Brain illness is her adopted terminology for what the rest of the world still calls "mental illness." But because there is a stigma attached to "mental illness" she prefers to use the term "brain illness."

Dylan was suffering from suicidal thoughts as early as 2 years before his eventual death, as evidenced in his journals, which Sue read posthumously. He was deeply and madly in love with a girl at school that "didn't know he existed." He felt worthless and hopeless. An "unsalvagable" and summed his life up in these words "the most miserable existence in the history of the world."

But on top of his suicidal desires, was a psychopathic friend, Eric Harris, who tried to interest at least 2 other of his friends in a mass shooting at his school. No one took the bait, except Dylan.

Layered on top of this was a culture of extreme bullying at the high school. And Eric and Dylan being frequent targets of such bullying.

And there are all the pieces: suicidal intentions + psychopath best friend + steady diet of shame and humiliation + brain illness = mass murder / suicide.

Okay, fine, but how could she NOT have even a whiff of that? How could she have no inkling what was going on with her son?

This is the question that haunts me.

My parents had no idea how I thought or felt, but I always chalked that up to the fact that they weren't interested in my inner life. As long as I brought home good grades, that was all that mattered. But Sue Klebold was not an Asian immigrant parent - she cared deeply about her sons inner life, she was an artist herself and wanted nothing more than for her son to feel cared for and loved.

She talked to Dylan about all things, big and small. She asked how he felt about them. She did everything she could to nurture his inner life.

And yet she knew nothing.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, Sue received many letters and a good proportion of them were from people who said essentially:

We don't blame you. My parents didn't know what I was going through as a teen. That I was raped / bullied / suicidal / etc. No one knew. I kept it a secret for years, decades.

And then I realized the chilling fact of the matter: there is a point when we as parents will no longer know what our kids don't want us to know about them. And that point probably comes sooner than we'd ever imagine.

One of Sue's journal entries was written in response to her reading about Dylan's suicidal thoughts for the first time: Dylan was so loved. But he did not feel loved...

Ultimately the question of "how" is still largely unanswered in my mind, but with the little light that has been shed, I am groping toward my own understanding of how to parent...and I'm realizing that parental love is not enough. Children need more from us than just love.

There is also the matter of Truth.

All Joy and No Fun

After I started reading Jennifer Senior's recent book about modern parenting, All Joy and No Fun, I figured I would never need to blog about parenting ever again.

She wrote it all.

It's all been said and done now. Her thoughts were a thousand times more articulate and illuminating than my own and I found myself nodding, chortling, and grunting in agreement pretty much non-stop throughout.

For example, her section on "flow" and the parent. Part of why parenting infants/toddlers is such a miserable experience is because there is no sense of "flow"--defined as that sensation of being totally absorbed and "in the zone", where an hour can feel like 5 minutes. Flow requires the perfect balance of stress and boredom--just challenging enough to keep you engaged and not too challenging that you're feeling high anxiety.

But parenting is like the opposite of experiencing flow. You are either bored out of your mind or stressed out of your mind.

First, the boredom--because babies can't talk, because reading Hop on Pop for the 50th time blows, because helping someone stumble around the park and not get to their destination for 30 minutes is mind-numbing, because tossing a ball back and forth, shaking rattles, playing peek-a-boo, labeling objects, and all the other stuff you're supposed to be doing for your baby's early development is, let's face it, completely boring after the first 90 seconds.

Second, the stress, which for me (and most parents I would imagine) comes from a very simple source--crying. Some people can tolerate a lot more crying than others, but we are all hard-wired by Nature to have a true physical stress response to our children crying. Heart rates are elevated, cortisol levels rise, blood pressure goes up, everything in you feels horrible.

So there you have it--the yin and yang of parenting small people--extreme boredom or extreme stress. No wonder in large national surveys mothers rank spending time with their kids less desirable than doing the dishes or other house chores. Hard to believe if you've never spent more than 8 hours with a small child, but I'm here to testify--that shizz is fo realz people. Fo realz.

Don't let the cuteness fool you!

Because the author was so dead on in capturing life with the 0-3 set, I was really excited to read on as she laid out life with school-age kids and then life with teenagers. Maybe this would give me a little road map toward what awaits and for once in my parenting life, I could get ahead of the curve!

Although I did find it somewhat helpful, alas, it didn't prove half as insightful sounding as the first part, maybe because she herself has only experienced motherhood up until age 5 (the age of her only son). All I gleaned is that kids between ages 4 and 12 are intensely over-scheduled and the parent basically morphs into a taxi driver. I'm thinking this might become irrelevant for me as Google develops the driver-less car any day now.

But aside from these little peaks into the horror and hells of parenting, I have to say my favorite part of the book was the last section in which the author explores the Joy of parenting. After all, the title does promise that it's "All Joy..."

Her descriptions of the deep and abiding joy in the midst of the pain of parenting were so poignant I teared up, a lot. In particular, she noted that single moms are by far the most stressed out people on the planet, BUT they are the least depressed. This seems counter-intuitive since you assume intense stress causes mental breakdown and depression.

But the author notes that depression is essentially a function of disassociation. When you feel like you have little or no attachments to the world around you, that is the key to depression. And parenting is the ultimate antidote. For the first time in your life, most likely, you feel the ultimate attachment. Never have you committed to someone to the degree that you commit to your child. And infinitely more so if you are his/her only, single parent.

To be on the hook, to be forever committed, to inextricably link yourself to another such that it is simply impossible to feel happy if that person is sad, is a monstrous burden--but also the gateway to paradise. As I've quoted before in reference to parenting--To love another person is to see the face of God.

And to that also, I can testify. That shizz is def fo realz too.

Summer of Un-Love

Recently, the spouse and I watched 500 Days of Summer (I know, we've been watching a lot of netflix lately).

It's your not-so-basic boy (Tom) meets girl (Summer), boy falls madly in love with girl, girl likes boy at first and then grows disenchanted and finally dumps him. (This is not really a spoiler cuz you realize this in the first 20 minutes of the film).


What I really appreciated about the movie though, is that it's told from a total guy perspective. It exudes all-thing-guy, like when Tom felt really cool, looked at his reflection in a car window and saw Hans Solo winking back at him. This movie makes me feel like I'm taking a journey through the male psyche--a simple, and uncomplicated terrain (just kidding, but not really).

But in the end, I was left with one question: Was Summer an evil b*tch? (The spouse unhesitatingly answered with a resounding YES). But I'm not sure...

She did toy with Tom's affections, lead him on, tease him, and inflame his hope only to throw him away like yesterday's trash...


The movie made a point of noting that she never cheated on him, was honest with him from the beginning that she was just "having fun" and not "being serious," and was clear and unequivocal about their breakup.

But still...

You can't help but feel like, in the end, she actually was an evil b*tch (or at least a big jerk).

Maybe it was because Tom liked her so darn much. He wore his affections on his sleeve and freely held out his wildly-beating heart to her. It was obvious that he liked her 100 times more than she liked him. Maybe 1000 times.


In that way, you couldn't help but feel that Summer took advantage of him. She knew there was this vast love-differential, but she jumped into the relationship anyway, knowing that he would more than likely get hurt.

Perhaps she should've kept a safe distance from him and helped him to guard his heart. She should have been her 'brother's keeper'.

Although, I have to say, that's quite a tall order for anyone to undertake--policing yourself on behalf of someone else because you don't want him/her to fall too hard.

Prior to watching this movie, I had never even thought about that as an obligation owed to a suitor. And in fact, I wish I had followed that practice myself in my younger years...alas.

This movie should be required watching material for anyone coming of age. It's a refreshing slap-in-the-face dose of reality and so much more healthy (and educational) for impressionable young people to watch than the typical mythologies of romance peddled so often on the big screen.

Hot Meals

We all know how food and cooking can be rife with double entendres (Swetty Balls anyone?) But nowhere is that more blatant than on Down Home with the Neelys on the Food Network.


At first the Neelys appear to be the black couple version of Paula Deen--big comfort food with a generous helping of Southern charm. But a few minutes into the show, you realize it's more like hour-long foreplay with bacon toppings.

I couldn't stop watching cuz I couldn't believe how ridiculously overt the romance'n was! To wit:

Pat (husband--while getting a meatloaf from the oven): Mmmm...I always got the meat baby, and you always my sauce, oh yeah.

Gina (while measuring out ingredients for cupcakes): Can you pass me the sugar baby?
Pat: Oh yeah, I got your sugar. I always got your sugar.

Gina (while adding cheese to a sauce): Come over here and taste this sauce Pat.
Pat: Mmmm...I know now I've been a good boy.
Gina: Oh yeah, you've been a very good boy. See it pays to be a good boy. (To tv audience) See, you got to hit your man 3 ways: the heart, the ???, and the stomach!

I expected them to start ripping each others' clothes off halfway through the show!

There's obviously something very sensual about the cooking process (which would explain why the French and Italians are so good at it)...

So for all you guys out there who think the kitchen is only for the ladies, I'll end this post with a parting insight/double entendre from Gina: "See men, it pays to cook with your woman!"

Eh, Wacha' Gonna Do?

Well, I finally got "Carried" away today (something I'd wanted to do since May 31, but *sigh* let's just say life wouldn't let me.)

I feel like I've watched every episode of SATC at least 3 times thanks to Netflix and reruns on basic cable, so no one could have been chomping on the bit to see the movie as much as I was. Talk about "great sexpectations."

And it wasn't really disappointing. I don't know. I have mixed feelings. It might take a while for me to sort this through--perhaps as long as it took Carrie to sort out her feelings for Big (aka Mr. Preston, ugh--dumb name).

The only strong feeling I had after the viewing was emotional trauma. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my body and put in a blender for 2.5 hours. How much excruciating ups and downs can a person take in an afternoon?!

And I definitely didn't like the "dark" Carrie--her Alanis Morissette phase, if you will. That's not the Carrie I know and love. Carrie is bright, and witty, and a chin-up kind of gal. The tv Carrie never had a problem a few martinis and some pot couldn't solve! (cf. the time when she got broken up with by a post-it).

But I did love the Miranda and Steve story arch. I thought it did pretty good justice to, what I imagine, a jilted spouse might feel like and go through without taking either spouse's side.

But all in all, I left the theatre feeling pretty sad.

I've always hated romantic movies of all kinds--comedies, dramas, animation. They always seem to make "Love" seem bigger than life, impossible, unattainable, and desperately missing from everyone's life but the heroine's. It's like "Love" is more exclusive than even haute couture, but also a thousand times more enviable. The sine qua non of existence. The Holy Grail.

Pish posh.

There's more to life than love. And "Love" doesn't exist. I believe in love, just not "Love."

Why can't there be a romantic movie with that point of view? Cuz that movie I think I would like!

Fun Feminist Fairytale Fantasy

I have nothing to write about, but following my zesty resolution to blog more often (see 3/11) I'm writing nevertheless!

Let me tell you about something I recently saw: Antonia's Line.

It's a delightful feminist fairytale film that won the Academy Award's Best Foreign Film in 1995. It's all about women--how great they are, how independent from men they are, how utterly capable, lovely and sometimes lesbian they are.


The central figure is Antonia, a woman in her late 30's who returns to her small Dutch farming community shortly after WWII with only her teenage daughter, Danielle. Antonia is played by a lovely and sturdy Dutch actress who just oozes wholesome goodness and health.


All the men in the sleepy town turn their heads toward Antonia when she walks by, like flowers to the sun, and she finds favor in everyone's eyes. A gentle widowed farmer asks for her hand in marriage and she slaps him down, saying she doesn't need men to take care of her. This nice man becomes her friend and eventually she says, "I won't give you my hand, but you can have everything else." Ah, feminist geezer love (just like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell!).

Danielle eventually grows up and decides she wants a baby, but without a husband. Antonia doesn't bat an eye, and takes Danielle into the big city to find the early prototype of an anonymous sperm donor--he ends up being a James Dean look alike complete with leather jacket and motorcycle.

Danielle finishes the deed while her mom waits in the hotel lobby and then they return to their sleepy town. Nine months later Danielle gives birth to a baby girl who turns out to be a child prodigy and is sent to a special school to get extra tutoring from a female teacher. Danielle falls in love with her daughter's female teacher and it is reciprocated. Ah, lesbian love.

Eventually, Danielle's daughter grows up and has a daughter of her own (of course! We can't have any boy babies in this feminist fairytale!) They all live together on this giant farm/commune and life is peaceful and idyllic and matriarchal.

The men in the film are portrayed, at best, as unecessary but pleasant appendages to have around (but no neediness!). At worst, they are rapists. There are only two "bad" and tragic things that happen in this fairytale (well maybe three).

First, there is death. Some characters die, but not anyone we really care about except Antonia. But her death is not really sad, it's just matter-of-fact.

And second, there are rapes. Two to be exact.

And that is all the tragedy that exists in this fairytale. No thwarted lovers, no jealousy, no famine or disease. Just the ugliness of male intrusion into the lovely female sphere.

There is a side tragedy though: the restraints of religious doctrine. Oh that favorite bogeyman and strait-jacket of the modern world. Throw off those wretched doctrinal fetters that bind you!

This anthem is epitomized by the dour middle-aged priest who decides to quit the priesthood. On the day of his "liberation" we see him ringing the church bells with glee to announce his resignation and him frantically tearing off his clerical robes as if they were laced with acid, just burning a hole through his skin.

He's free, he's free! He instantly marries, has a new child each year (remarkably by the same woman) and eventually when his wife dies, devotes his life to social welfare work! Ah, the social gospel.

This kind of ideological fantasy world is hilariously out-of-date now as philosophers on their treadmill of deconstruction have already turned the page on this and moved on. Now it's theism and absolutism that the philosophic academia respects.

But even so, the hoi paloi are still singing this idealistic chorus: Women don't need men, reproductive choices are purely individualistic, and doctrine is death. Fa la la la la. Antonia's Line is the orchestral celebration of this song--full-bodied, lush, and delightfully witty.

The World Title: Meh

Today was a good day, basically...

It was 24-hour Technibond on HSN, so that's always entertaining. For those of you who don't know, Technibond is genuine sterling silver bonded to 14k gold so that you can have the look of gold for a fraction of the price. Brilliant, eh?


I also watched the documentary King of Kong: Fistful of Quarters. At first I felt like I was watching a mockumentary of the saddest geeks of all time. But towards the middle of the film I became really emotionally involved in the journey and drama of Steve Wiebe--all around decent family guy trying to beat the Donkey Kong high-score with the "establishment" working against him.

It had all the makings of a great drama. A winsome protagonist, an evil antagonist, and a dream. I'm not going to lie, I actually teared up towards the end.

But it's still pathetic--trying to be the highest scorer in Donkey Kong. Who cares if you hold the world record? You don't get money, you think you get validation, but I'm sure it's a real let down.

In highschool, my swim coach actually won a gold medal in the Olympics for the US water polo team. Mr...forgot his name...Barnes? He always said that winning the medal was the most exciting moment in his life. And the next day was so unfathomably empty. The thrill lasts for just a moment. And then the abyss.

Psychologists have studied that effect: adaptation (I think they call it). People adapt to the great fortune they have and that becomes their new baseline level. Unless you keep rising, you can't feel great for that long.

But I think when you win the world title (or achieve something you thought was the ultimate achievement), you don't just "adapt" to it like a flat-line. I think you would actually feel extremely depressed because, what else is there? What else is there to live for? Like Alexander the Great on his 30th birthday.

A True Religion

It is an incontrovertible fact that the most vulnerable people have always been the poor. And among them, it is children and widows that are most wretched.

Thus it is said that a religion that is faultless must look after widows and orphans in their distress.

This is the heart and message of Deepa Mehta's moving 2005 film, Water, about a young Brahmin widow trapped in a condition of poverty and perversion.

Chuyia is only 7 years old when her betrothed husband, some twenty years her major, dies. Her family sends her away to a far off ashram to live as a widow forever, as is the proscribed religious practice in India. Her head is shaved and she wears only white cloth to show her new "untouchable" status.

The movie peels away the layers of cultural and religious formalities to show us the true reason for sending widows away to live in isolated communities: money. One less mouth to feed, four saris less to buy, and one cot less to be taken up. In a society of subsistence-level living, one woman is too much of a burden on the family-unit without a man to work for her. Thus children are betrothed at a young age and widows are shipped off to beg for a living.

But the movie does not stop there. It goes into the age-old dark underbelly of poverty: sexual exploitation. Under the delusion of sanctity, old Brahmin men pay to have sex with the youngest widows, justifying it as an honor and a blessing for the women.

It's been almost 10 years since I've cried watching a movie, but Water made me bawl like a baby during the last scene (ha! aptly named). I could've enjoyed it more without the unrealistic Bollywood elements, but eh, whatcha gonna' do.

Water is generally moving and artistic, with strong moral elements. But it manages to manueuver between over-simplicity and meaningless ambiguity with surprising and refreshing agility.

It is a simple cry for human compassion--the ultimate barometer of truth.

An Inconvenient Pastime

Before the new semester begins (in 2 days) I have managed to sqeeze in some more movies. I saw:

A rather wooden man with a Joker-esque face on a mission to right the wrongs of a government ignoring its moral imperatives. Rating: 5 out of 10.



Another rather wooden man with a Joker-esque face on a mission to right the wrongs of a government ignoring its moral imperatives. Rating: 9 out of 10.

I've been busy lately...

In the last month I've watched the following:

A luchador with expensive "recreation clothes" and no ability to control his gas-passing when making sudden movements. Rating: 7 out of 10.

A world where there are no people or any other living organisms except for vegetable life. Rating: 6 out of 10.

What can only be described as a wet-dream sequence for conspiracy theorists, but headache for historians and theologians. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Painful flash-forwards of what I anticipate my life will be like slaving away in a law firm. Rating: 6 out of 10.


Alias, the movie, except instead of Jennifer Garner, the super-spy is a crazy middle-aged male scientologist. But plot lines, characters, and settings all pretty much stay the same. Rating: 5 out of 10.

Let this be a cautionary tale to you all: Don't get Blockbuster's AND Netflix unless you've got this kind of serious commitment to vegging.

Love at Harvard

This Korean mini-series is the WORST thing I have ever seen. Period.

I've been watching it regularly to improve my Chinese (it's dubbed in Mandarin so, yes, the mouths don't match the voices). But I find myself getting oddly addicted to it...


It's like a train-wreck, so horrible, you can't look away. Anyone looking for a good guffaw and endless chuckles, look no further.