Can I Have Dessert?
I am convinced that my two sons are addicted to sugar. At the very least, they live with the assumption that after every meal a sweet treat or two or three is available. And lest you think I'm a clueless mother, I'm perfectly aware that this is my fault.
Now, I should preface this by saying that I used to be a pastry chef, and my husband is a chef and my children have always been exposed to really good food. And because our oldest daughter has a severe disability and requires a pretty stringently healthy, whole foods diet, we're very conscious of proper nutrition. After almost a decade and a half of mothering, I'm aware of what you're supposed to do and not supposed to do regarding food and rewards and eating and all that stuff. And I realize that dessert as a reward to finishing your dinner is not exactly de rigueur in these hyper-conscious parenting times, but I do it all the time.
Can I have dessert? my younger son, who is eight years old, asked me the other night. Oliver has become, of late, an extremely picky eater whose likes and dislikes are hard to keep up with. I tend to just ignore them, let him go hungry if he doesn't like what I've prepared.
I looked at his plate which was still covered with chicken and green beans.
You know the rules, Oliver. You have to finish your dinner, I said as I spooned food into my daughter's mouth. Sophie has a severe seizure disorder and needs assistance with virtually everything. My other son, Henry, who is eleven, has a fairly indiscriminate palate and will finish all of his dinner without much fuss. Dessert isn't really an incentive for him; sheepishly, I imagine that he feels like it's a given.
Can I have dessert, now? Oliver asks, pushing his plate toward me. All the chicken is gone, but the green beans lie dejected in the middle of the plate. When I tell him that he has to FINISH his dinner if he wants dessert, including his green beans, Oliver protests how much he hates them and it's not fair and you're so mean and then, suddenly, Sophie begins to have a seizure. Now, this is a common enough occurrence that everyone in the family knows what to do, and while I might describe it in a sarcastic way as a freaking carnival, such is our life that we just do what we do. Anyway, Oliver gets quiet as I unbuckle Sophie and half lift, half drag her out of her chair and down the hallway to her room. As I get her comfortable on her bed, wiping her face and murmur it's all right, Sophie, it's all right, I sense Oliver at my back and sure enough I hear,
Continued on the next page
Follow Technorati