Dada at the Dinner Table

I always knew my art history classes would come in handy. Art imitates life, or is it life imitates art? However it goes, I have always thought that art helps me to understand the world I live in. But I never could have guessed it would shed light on the activity happening right at my own kitchen table.


When I was pregnant, and even after my newbie arrived, I imagined our family dinners to look something like an impressionist painting. The main course is recognizable as such and prominently featured like the figure in a Renoir or Degas. On close examination, the actual make up of the meal, like the color and brush strokes of an impressionist painting, may combine casually thrown together side dishes. However if I stand back and squint, like a good Monet, I can make out a well-balanced meal.

Then my baby becomes a toddler and my idealized image of family dinner vanishes like a popped balloon. All of a sudden my daughter won’t taste any food that is combined with any other food. She may love peas and pasta but only if they remain in their own confined spaces on her highchair tray.

So I quickly shift art movements to abstract expressionism. I think Mondrian where the red, blue, white and yellow are organized and kept from bleeding into each other with distinct black lines. “A purist,” another mom explains to me. I understand immediately as I watch my toddler gobble up rice and black beans that each sit in their own distinct bowl.

“It all goes to the same place,” I argue with my now 3 year-old.
“But it doesn’t taste good together,” my daughter responds.

Fast forward another year or so, sitting at the dinner table with my 5 year-old daughter and 3 year-old son. “Look mommy, I can stand the carrots up on their ends and make buildings,” says my son. Meanwhile my daughter is talking to a piece of steamed sweet potato who is asking to come over for a play date.

“Dada,” I think. You know, the art movement where Duchamp took a urinal, turned it upside down and called it a fountain? I am not a fan of playing with your food. When my kids start smearing and smashing their dinner, a la Jackson Pollock, I always bring out the “no dessert” threats.

“Should I let this continue,” I think to myself as my son builds a city of carrots and then eats each one. I look over and my daughter’s sweet potato chunk is now sharing toys with another piece on its way to her mouth.

“They ARE eating their dinner,” I reason as I sit back and enjoy a little Dada at the dinner table.

Imaginary Parenting

I don’t know if you are watching the new television series called, Parenthood. I mean, what a great idea for a show. They will never run out of material! I can imagine the un-made Seinfeld episode now. Seinfeld’s fellow comedian friend would become a parent in order to experience the endless supply of mishaps, unexpected dialog and humorous situations. “He did it for the jokes,” Seinfeld would complain.

All kidding aside, Parenthood is proving to be a great show. Last week one couple finds that their son has Aspergers, which is a form of autism. Throughout the episode the boy wants to wear a pirate costume, against his parents’ wishes. Eventually a doctor tells the parents that they need to join their son in his world. At the end of the show, during the instrumental emotional conclusion of the episode’s stories, the father is shown playing with his son in the backyard. Both father and son are dressed as pirates and run around the yard, on the look-out for other ships.

It is a beautiful moment, but it gets me thinking. Why does a father wait until his son is diagnosed with Aspergers before he joins him in his imaginary play? All kids, whether they are autistic or not, would benefit from their parent entering their imaginary world in order to play together.

I recently had to sell my green station wagon which is the only car my kids have known as our family car. I explain to my kids over and over again how a nice lady came and bought my green car and will give it a nice new home. We “adopt” a gray station wagon as our new family car and “welcome” it into our life. It doesn’t go over so well. For two weeks my 3 year old bursts into tears whenever riding in the new car, “I miss the green car!” Then my 5 year old joins in, “when is the lady going to give it back?” “Oh she’s going to keep it,” I try to explain. “WHAT? She is going to KEEP our car for ever and ever?” they chime in together. More tears.

I’m doomed, I think. So in order to stop the crying for the long gone, green car I say to my kids, “this car comes with a special feature that the old car didn’t have.” “It does? What?” they say between sniffles. “A Fly button.”

“Press it!” says my daughter. “We want to fly!” says my son. So I press the imaginary button and say, “Hold on tight, here we go up and up and up!” We rise up off the street, above the trees and say “Hi” to the birds. We look down at the tiny houses, cars and people below us. We take a ride on a cloud and reach our hands toward the sun. As we approach our preschool, we hold on tight and come in for a smooth landing in the parking lot.

“We flew here!” my daughter tells her teacher as we walk in the door. I chuckle and try to explain. “Oh, how fun,” the teacher responds but I’m not sure what she is thinking.

The next day we get in the car and my son asks where we are going. “To school,” I say for the tenth time that morning. “Can we fly there?” he asks. “Sure thing, hold on tight,” I say with smile. There’s no more talk of missing the green car. When we find ourselves in traffic or even when it’s raining, we just press the fly button and experience a whole new world above the clouds.

I can’t picture being a parent without embracing imaginary play. It helps me to understand my kids as well as assist them to work through tough issues like selling a family car. We should all strive to play pirates in the back yard. You never know when you will spot another ship on the horizon.

Peer Pressure Points

I have never been a fan of peer pressure. Usually it involves some sort of emotional stress, fear of being different and doing something you didn’t want to do. Nothing good comes of peer pressure, right? Well, a little bit might be just the thing to get your kid to taste a previously detested food.

Steak. My 5 year-old daughter has never tasted steak. I love steak. But she prefers to get her protein from black beans and lentils. Okay, that’s fine. Not everyone has to love steak or even eat it. If she grows up to be a vegetarian, I will support her, no question. But it would be nice if she could, just once, humor me and taste a piece of steak. At the dinner table, I never pressure her but always offer a tiny taste of my steak. The answer is always “NO! Steak, Yuck!” accompanied by a turned head and scrunched up face to complete her point. “Okay, maybe next time,” I say brushing it off as no big deal.

The other night we had an impromptu 5 year-old dinner party: my 5 year-old daughter, two 5 year-old neighbors, my 3 year-old son, and I. Everyone is seated at the table together, excited for whatever food is to come “Who wants rice?” I ask with the pot of rice in my hands. “Me!” “Me!” “Me!” “Me!” “Okay,” I continue, “Who wants broccoli?” “Me!” “Me!” “Oh, okay.” “No thanks.” “Okay,” I continue, “you can have steak or you can have black beans or both.” “Beans,” says my daughter. “Beans,” says my son. “Steak,” says one neighbor. “Steak,” says the other neighbor.

As we eat our dinner together, sounds of “Yum, Steak!” keep coming from the two neighbors. I see my daughter starts to notice. “Can I have a bite?” she asks, wanting to join the steak-loving club. “Sure,” I say nonchalantly as I cut her a tiny piece. “Mmmmm, yum, more steak please!” she says to me with a smile and her fork in the air. I happily serve her and her friends more bite-sized pieces of steak.

“Wow,” I think to myself. “We may have found a peer pressure point tonight.” Don’t get too excited. Peer pressure can have the opposite effect on your child at the dinner table as well. During this same dinner I offer spinach salad, something my daughter usually gobbles up. But tonight, after both of her friends turn their noses with a “yuck,” my daughter follows suit and passes on the spinach.

The uneaten spinach doesn’t bother me. I know spinach is a food my daughter likes so not eating it one night is no big deal. But to get my daughter to taste a food that she usually refuses to even so much as lick? Now that’s exciting.

My 3 year-old, on the other hand, remains oblivious to any peer pressure in the air. He happily goes about his own meal eating two portions of rice, broccoli, black beans, and yes, spinach salad. His peer pressure point to taste steak will be pressed on another night, I’m sure.

Mamsaurus Rex, the Carnivore

Dinosaur Train, a relatively new addition to the morning PBS Kids television line-up, is a cartoon about a Pteranodon family with an adopted Tyrannosaurus Rex. This motley crew takes family trips on the Dinosaur Train to learn about other dinosaurs and visit them in their prehistoric habitat. The Time Tunnel marks the train’s passage through time, acknowledging the different periods in which dinosaurs lived. Dinosaur Train combines children’s love of dinosaurs, trains and sense of adventure into a fun, 30-minute show for kids.

Both my 3 year old boy and 5 year old girl love to run around the house re-enacting the preschool-age, dinosaur characters, Tiny, Shiny and Buddy. They jump on and off the train. “All aboard!” they shout as they pull their arms down blowing the pretend whistle in the air. They go on fishing adventures and flying escapades. They learn about which dinosaurs swim, fly, walk on four legs, run on two legs, or have spikes or long tails.

My kids also learn about what dinosaurs eat for lunch. To my surprise, this ancient reptile insider scoop is my children’s favorite obsession. Both my kids from the time they could pick up food with their fingers, loved to eat vegetables. They can relate to the herbivores munching on leaves and plants. But what about the Pteranodon family fishing for their supper? Ever since Dinosaur Train hit PBS my kids have been questioning the fish on my dinner plate. “Really, that’s fish?” my 5 year old exclaims. “It doesn’t look like fish.” “You eat fish?” “How did you catch it?” asks my 3 year old. And so the string of tough questions begin; how fish goes from alive in the water to lifeless on our kitchen table. I don’t mind the inquisition. I am sure my children’s curiosity is age-appropriate. I just won’t expect them to taste my fish any time soon.

My real concern is when my kids find out what Buddy, the preschool-age T-Rex, eats for lunch. I haven’t watched every episode with my kids but, so far, I haven’t heard any mention of what’s in T-Rex’s lunchbox. “Meat,” my kids say. “Buddy eats meat and fish.” They know fish and have seen the dinosaurs catch and eat them. But meat – what is that exactly? The show teaches kids about our similarities and differences, yet skirts around a basic fact of life. T-Rex is a carnivore. He eats other dinosaurs.

I have only recently gotten my daughter to eat a hamburger. Meat has never rated high on either of my kids’ yummy list. I strive to teach by example so I always hope that if they see me eating meat, one day they too will want some. However, since Dinosaur Train, I get the feeling that my days are numbered. If seeing Pteranodons swooping in to make a kill for their fish dinner sends them into a flurry of questions about what I am eating, what will she think of my steak?

Don’t get me wrong. I love the show. It has catchy music, adorable animation and everyone learns to play together. I simply dread the day Buddy, the adopted T-Rex, realizes who he is and what he eats. Maybe my fears are for nothing. Maybe PBS has it all under control and, like a good soap opera, will keep up the search for Buddy’s true nature, throughout its broadcast run, without resolution.

Happy Mom, Happy Baby

Almost exactly five years ago, I walked into a pediatrician’s office in Brooklyn, with dark circles under my eyes and engorged breasts, lugging my shrieking newborn baby in her car seat. It had taken me five minutes to drive from our apartment and 20 minutes to find a parking spot. I had arrived at our 2 week-old newborn checkup with my first child and I thought I was about to fall over with exhaustion, before the appointment even began.

My daughter’s exam proceeded smoothly despite the crying and ill-timed poop. At the end of her routine check-up, the pediatrician asked me if I had any questions. “Can I drink a glass of wine in the evening if I am a nursing mom?” I asked. He lowered the medical chart in his hand and looked at me for a moment. “I always say that a happy mom makes for a happy baby,” he said with a smile. “Really?” I perked up. “Wow, I can do that for my baby!”

I walked out of that doctor’s office, still feeling the side effects of sleeplessness and sore breasts, with a new feeling of self confidence and thoughts of my next glass of pinot noir.  My baby needs not only a mom, but a happy mom. Since she was born, all I cared about was taking care of my baby while I overlooked the essential fact that I also need to take care of myself.

Fast forward several years to my arrival at a playground in Atlanta wearing clothes that I had worn the day before, with disheveled hair, toting my cranky 1-year old and know it all 3-year old. I met my friend with her 3-year old for an outdoor play date. My friend took one look at me and relayed what another mom once said to her. “Take a shower every morning and never leave the house without applying makeup.” That was the key to good parenting.

"What?" I thought. "What if I prefer to shower at night and have never worn make up every day?" But then I realized that my friend was not commenting on my personal hygiene nor was she scolding me for not wearing enough mascara. She was telling me to spend at least 15 minutes every day on myself. "Wow," I thought to myself. "A whole 15 minutes to myself EVERY day?"

Later that week I realized the advice from the pediatrician, years ago, and now from my friend, had a common denominator. In order to be a good mother, who is happy, confident, and able to see to the needs of her children, she first needs to take care of herself. Whether it’s eating well, drinking a glass of wine, or simply looking in the mirror before leaving the house, it all added up to one simple fact. Happy moms promote happiness in their children.

“So,” I said to my daughter’s pediatrician five years ago. “How many glasses of wine still constitute a happy mom? When does a happy mom tip the scale over to a bad mom?” He chuckled and explained how one glass of wine consumed over the course of an hour, while eating food and also drinking water, should not have an effect on the baby. All mothers had different thresholds so it was important for me to find my balance.

When in doubt, chené out.

During my ballet training from about age 8 to 19, I performed several times a year with a local ballet troop. I thought I was gaining valuable performaning experience which would help my development as a dancer. What I didn’t know is that I was also learning the most important lesson in life, how to deal with the unexpected. When in doubt, chené out.

This was a phrase that us dancers coined and repeated often in rehearsal as well as back stage during performances. The word “chené” is a French ballet term which refers to a series of 180 degree turns performed while traveling in a line, on either the ball of your foot or on pointe if you are wearing toe shoes. While spinning, one can quickly move from point A to point B. “When in doubt,” refers to the moment you are on stage and you forget your step or a mishap occurs that was not planned and causes you to veer from the rehearsed choreography. When in doubt, when you are not sure what will happen next or what is expected of you, “chené out.” This means, make a graceful exit that looks like it was planned from the beginning. In other words, go with the flow.

Live performances are like life. You plan and plan for the performance of your life, rehearse and know your lines. Then, as you experience first hand the moments you have anticipated, just about anything can happen. The key is not to break from character. Simply act like you know what you are doing, make a graceful exit, and let the show continue.

In life, especially with parenting, we think we have anticipated all that is to come. And yet when we get there, the unexpected happens. So what should we do? How shall we cope? Put our heads down and cry that this isn’t how it was supposed to be? No ma’am. We change course to accommodate our new situation. And we do it gracefully as if it was always meant to be.

“Mommy, remember that time I pooped in my shoes on the playground and you were out of wipes and my brother took off running in the opposite direction?” my daughter asks me. “Yes dear, I remember,” I smile as I respond. I couldn’t forget that one. Talk about graceful exits…

Take Back The Snack

Kids need snacks. Parents need to redefine what constitutes a snack. Don’t stop the snacking, just change the snack.  A reaction to an article featured in the Dining section of the New York Times.

Jennifer Steinhauer’s article, “Snack Time Never Ends,” tells us to end the reign of the snacks. She complains that “when it comes to American boys and girls, snacks seem both mandatory and constant.” Steinhauer then goes on to blame snack machines and the endless opportunities to eat snacks as the culprit secretly plotting against the family dinner and driving our children away from healthy food forever.

Steinhauer informs us that snack time seems to be out of control. Sure maybe so, but it is because parents have given in to junk food, not the snack. Sure kids may be over-scheduled these days but apples and bananas are just as easy to grab and eat on the go as are sodas and cookies.

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that kids eat three meals a day as well as two or three snacks. The academy also tells us that kids actually need to eat snacks because their tiny stomachs cannot retain enough at meal times to last with energy until the next mealtime. Snacking is good. It gives us energy between meals when we start to feel sluggish and therefore puts us in a better mood to continue with whatever task is at hand.

Let’s be honest here, adults need snacks too. Isn’t it better to not over-eat during meal time but consume an appropriate portion of lunch and then have a healthy snack at 3:00 pm to keep you going until dinner? Whether you are a toddler on the playground, a first-grader at school or an adult at the office, we all get sluggish between meals and we all appreciate the opportunity to counteract our dropping energy. Just don’t cure your snack-attack with a cupcake. Why not reach for an orange instead?.

Steinhauer argues that snacks are interfering with mealtime. If she is waiting to offer snacks to her kids until they are starving and standing in front of a vending machine when its very close to dinner time, she may be right. Why not offer a piece of fruit or yoghurt before the child reaches a full sugar-low and simply walk on past the vending machine? If the parent can’t say no to junk food, why should we expect our kids to? It’s not the snack that is ruining mealtime. It is the parent.

Steinhauer describes the act of giving kids snacks as a bad habit akin to letting your toddler sleep in your bed. If a parent should find himself in a pattern of behavior that is less than ideal, why not change it? So you let your 2-year old sleep with you one too many times and now she demands it every night. Guess what, it’s time for the parent to be the adult and break the unwanted cycle. Just because you let your guard down and give in to a junk food snack request one too many times doesn’t mean you don’t have the authority to put your foot down at the next snack time.

If you give up on your child’s behavior or habits as unchangeable, where does that leave your child? Sleeping in your bed and eating junk food for the rest of her life. It’s called parenting. As parents we are expected to guide our children to make positive and healthy choices in life whether it involves sleeping or snacking. If we don’t set standards, who will?

Parents need to take back the snack and give our kids healthy food again!