Feeding the Bird

Our nickname for our son is "the bird".  It all started when he was a baby.  I would rock him for hours until I thought he was asleep. Then I'd put him in his crib, and ZING.  "I'm awake mommy, sorry you aren't," he'd seem to say. I would mutter under my breath, "Oh Austin!   You turkey bird." So now it's just "the bird" for short.

I just attempted to prepare the bird lunch. I would like some advice from other parents on when to trust their children to make their own lunch. My boy is 10, and I would like him to at least get his own cereal and milk, especially since he wants to be grown-up enough to be left alone for little bits at a time.

But the truth is he wants to be served, so lately when I have been serving him, I've been trying to teach him how to serve himself. When I was his age, I was cooking for myself.

I ask the bird what I can serve him for lunch.  He says quite clearly that he wants a toasted cheese sandwich.   I make it for him. Then I give him a choice of sides including either bananas, apple slices or carrots. 

He says he wants grapes. Fortunately we have some. My husband puts some on his plate.

The bird looks at his plate with the cheese sandwich and grapes as if he's stepped in a cow pie.

I know that feeding children is a problem as old as time, but what makes this situation somewhat unique is that the bird can magically hate foods he ASKS FOR.

He takes a bite out of the sandwich and a couple of grapes, and pushes his plate away, declaring he's not hungry.  Then he reaches for a banana and eats that. I'm guessing that the sandwich was too toasted for him, and that the grapes were too small. Only the bird knows.

I don't know how I fought these kinds of battles while I was on chemo.

Another reason to be glad for a break from chemo.  Another reason to hope my son learns to serve himself.  For now, the kitchen is closed.