Registration is open online and at select locations (listed on the website), or participants can register at Westlake on the day of the event.

If you’d like further information or want to connect with someone at the Arthritis Foundation for an interview, I’m happy to set that up. I’ve included the basics below:

WHEN:             7:30 – 10:00 a.m., Sunday, December 14

6:45 a.m.   Registration begins

8:00 a.m.   Costume Contest judging

8:20 a.m.   Wells Fargo 1K Children’s Run with the Elves

8:50 a.m.   Start of Rudolph Runners 5K Race

9:00 a.m.   Start of Dasher Dashers 5K Race

9:10 a.m.   Start of Santa Striders 5K Walk

10:00 a.m. Post Event Bash – Awards, prizes and giveaways

WHERE:    Westlake Center
WHO:   All Seattle residents and visitors interested in ringing in the holiday season in support of the Arthritis Foundation.

WHY: Arthritis affects 46 million Americans today and is one of the leading causes of disability in the country.

CONTACT:    www.seattlejinglebellrun.org or 206.547.2707

I’ve never had an identifiable eating disorder, although I’ve wished for one on many occasion. I even considered just how much weight I could lose if I did, wondering if you can catch an eating disorder from watching too much Project Runway or the new 90210 as I took another bite of Chunky Monkey.  If I’m lucky enough to catch a stomach virus that my kids have brought home from school, my first thought is not “I hope I get over this soon,” it is “I wonder how much weight I can lose from getting sick?”

Houston, we have a problem.

My story is typical.  I am not unlike most of the female population in that I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable in my skin.  The only moments when I praise my size are in retrospect, when I look at my image in photographs that are many years old and I wonder why it was that I thought I was so horribly overweight?  I know this about myself and that is why I so desperately want to avoid passing this on to my children, especially my daughter.

Seattle-area girls are not immune to the national epidemic of not loving their bodies either.  According to  “Real Girls, Real Pressure:  A National Report on the State of Self-Esteem:”

• Two thirds of girls (67%) in Seattle believe they are not good enough or do not measure up in some way, including their looks, performance in school and relationships with friends and family members
• 62% of teen girls in Seattle reported engaging in negative activities, such as disordered eating, cutting, bullying,smoking, or drinking, when feeling badly about themselves
• The self-esteem tipping point happens during the transition to teenage years, resulting in loss of trust and communication with adults
• Parents’ words and actions play a pivotal role in fostering positive self-esteem in girls:  The top wish among girls in Seattle is for their parents to communicate better with them, which includes more frequent and more open conversations, as well as discussions about what is happening in their own lives.

There you have it.  Now, what do we do about it?  For the past several years, I’ve seen the commercials, I’ve seen the ads in magazines, and read about the amazing, empowering and important work of the Dove Self-Esteem Project and The Campaign for Real Beauty.  Thankfully, this group has been gaining momentum, doing outreach for girls all over the country and conducting self-esteem workshops for women nation wide (there is one coming up December 16th, in Seattle, click here for a link to more details).

They’ve released yet another eye-opening video about the state of our girls - remember the one about beauty?  Take a peek by clicking HERE - it will take you to the videos.  There are four, including the one where the model morphs from a regular woman into a print ad.  Please watch the video titled “Onslaught.”

We can’t control the media, even though we can influence it if we try hard enough.  We can control how we communicate with our daughters.  We can be better role models and show them how to love themselves, their bodies, no matter what their size.  We can encourage them to be healthy, strong and beautiful all at the same time.  Educating ourselves, attending workshops, and communicating, with the help of companies like Dove, I really believe our daughters will be in a much better place than we ever were.

Carrie can be found most days at Stop Screaming I’m Driving where she chronicles her life as mother to three active children, wife of one busy fire fighter, constant doer of laundry, and picker upper of Legos.  She takes offers of free babysitting and bribes of lattes (vanilla, extra foam) very seriously.  Feel free to reach her at carrieb[at]seattlemomblogs[dot]com.

Head on over to Stop Screaming I’m Driving to enter for a chance to win Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters:  How the Quest for Perfection is Harming Young Women, by Courtney E. Martin.

 

 

* cross - posted at Stop Screaming I’m Driving 

Behold: Copyright Infringement Be Dammed, good tips from Bally Total Fitness.

Taking the bite out of holiday eating from Bally Total Fitness®

If you’re trying to watch your calorie intake, the holidays can seem like the season of temptation. But with these tried-and-true tactics for healthier holiday snacking from BallySM, you can enjoy the holidays and make it to New Year’s without regrets (or extra pounds).

CURB YOUR APPETITE BEFORE PARTIES
Eat a small, filling meal within an hour of going to dinner parties. Some good choices: a cup of hot soup (broth-based rather than cream-based) or a half-sandwich made with whole-grain bread.
BEWARE OF THE BUFFET
The lure of holiday buffets can cause even the most cautious calorie counter to overindulge, so decide before going to the party what you plan to eat. For example, have raw veggie appetizers instead of fried ones, a good-sized piece of broiled fish but just a little lasagna for dinner, a roll but no butter, or a favorite holiday dessert but no standard- issue cookies. And whatever you do, don’t linger near the food tables—you’ll be more likely to eat absent-mindedly.

WATCH YOUR ALCOHOL CALORIES
Remember that each glass of wine, beer, or mixed drink adds calories. And the more you drink, the less inhibited you may become about controlling what you eat. Try alternating your cocktails with a glass of water to cut calories and stay hydrated.

Now the next step is actually doing this. Do you have any of your own tips you’d like to contribute? I need all the help I can get.

And, also! Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Read more of Leslie’s sarcastic blahblablah at Mrs. Flinger and find podcast reviews, interviews, crafts, events and topics for the Seattle Parent at Mamaspod.Com.

Almost three years ago, my husband and I decided, what the heck, we’d leave our family and friends behind and travel 12,000 miles away to a foreign country which we’d heard so much about and watched everyday on TV.

We imagined eating everyday at a diner with checkered floors and Formica tables where a waitress who knew us by name would pour us coffees and ask us if we’d have our usuals. We dreamt of sightseeing every weekend for two years, visiting little tucked-away towns where old men sat on rocking chairs and outside barber shops, watching us warily while they smoked pipes and/or played cards. We imagined living in a nice big house with a white picket fence and neighbors coming over to play and a dog we’d name Clunkers (like Phoebe’s friend’s dog in Friends).

Come January it will be three years. We’ve eaten at a diner, let me see, three times because we discovered that diner food was not exactly very healthy. In fact, we rarely even eat out and the kids are so used to the Malaysian dishes I cook daily that they don’t even like diner food.

We still do try to travel regularly but tend to make for the outdoors more than just visiting small towns, although I still love them (I live in one!). Old people don’t really sit out on their front porches because it’s cold or wet or it isn’t the 50s anymore or maybe they’re more mobile these days and prefer to be up and about. 

We live in a town house and therefore have no space for a dog. We hardly know our neighbors because, well, nobody ever came over to welcome us to the neighborhood. I guess my condo is just not that sort of a community. 

You may say that much of what we thought of America, all those whimsical, romantic notions planted by American media and movies, have been dashed. It wasn’t exactly a rude awakening. It was more like a gentle, sneaky sort of unveiling. Like the diner thing. The novelty wears off when you discover how expensive it is to eat out, or when you discover Trader Joe’s and realize you can make better pancakes or hash browns and eat them in your jammies at home.

However, there were a lot of pleasant surprises for us, things we never knew about America. More accurately, things we were skeptical about and may have had problems believing could happen. For instance, even when we knew that Seattle - and perhaps much of Washington - was considered a liberal place and welcoming to foreigners of a different culture, we expected to be discriminated against all the same. Who can blame us, coming from a country where discrimination and oppression happened on a daily basis, you pretty much just learn to accept it and live with it.

Not only have we’ve been made to feel welcome, at times, it feels as though we’ve always been one of you. We’re not discriminated against (there have been occasions but they were more rude than serious), but we’re not given any special treatment either. Everyone gets the same opportunities if they work hard. Everyone pays taxes. So far, the only thing that’s been different for us from Americans has been the fact that we can’t vote. 

Which brings me to the point of my whole entry: The presidential election has been such an educational, inspiring experience for me and my family, to be here to see for myself how true democracy works, how when you place your faith in a system of laws and the constitution, that when your voice matters, real change can happen. To a Malaysian, this is nothing short of a miracle.

My own country, Malaysia, is facing challenges of its own today and I cannot help but wish and hope that it too can find the change it so desperately needs. Although we claim to have a democratic system, it is a broken one and sadly, its people are powerless to fix it. However, in our last general election, we managed to salvage part of it. For us, the road to change will remain a long and difficult one. 

So even though beneath your shiny veneer, all the whimsy, glamor, celebrity and fantasy, you may be flawed, you America, are still a great nation. Living here, being a part of this historic event, has made me a little less skeptical and a lot more hopeful that with time and determination, with people and belief, all things are possible. My children, unlike my husband and I, will grow up knowing that this is the way it should be. That there is always hope and with hope, a little less skepticism and a little more faith. 

For that, I thank you.

See what I mean when I say YOU have inspired the world (yes, the first guy is the guy we want to be the Prime Minister of Malaysia ;)). 

Read more of Jennifer Tai’s writing at The I’mPerfect Mom or enjoy her photos at www.jennifertai.net. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Tea Leaf Journals, email jenn[at]theimperfectmom[dot]com.

Subscribe to Tea Leaf Journals | Subscribe to Seattle Mom Blogs
 

Second, when Rachel left, I was able to quit my job, so I’m now staying home and taking care of Elanor.

With both of these changes, my bus riding habits have also changed pretty significantly. No longer do I primarily ride the commuting or express buses. Instead, I’m riding lots of different buses, and all during the middle of the day.

It’s a really different experience, for sure, riding the local routes of the express buses I used to ride. The demographic makeup of the express buses versus the local routes is very different. Instead of being filled with commuters with laptop bags slung over their shoulders and insulated coffee mugs in hand, reading the newspaper or magazines like The Economist, the daytime buses are filled with a much wider range of people. There are a lot of students, especially on the 17, which serves Seattle Pacific University. There are a lot more people riding with reduced fare permits, a lot more elderly people, a lot more people who look a bit rough around the edges.

If I’m blunt, the main difference seems to be that those on commuter buses are people who have made a choice to ride the bus because it’s easier to get downtown, or it’s cheaper than paying for parking, or it’s better for the environment. And on the daytime buses, there tends to be a much higher percentage of people who ride the bus because they don’t have a choice; it’s their only way to get around.

There are pluses and minuses to each sort of ride. The commuter buses tend to be quiet (which can be both a good thing or a bad thing, depending on whether or not Elanor is with me). The daytime buses tend to be emptier, which is nice when I have Elanor and a bunch of stuff.

People are much chattier on the daytime buses, which annoys me sometimes, since I’m used to the unspoken rules of the express bus, which includes the rule that people don’t talk, and if you do talk, it’s done quietly so as not to disturb anyone else. When we ride the local routes, that rule doesn’t usually apply, especially if Elanor is with me. Lots of people tend to talk to me about her, always asking how old she is, and a lot of the time, commenting on how cute she is.

When I’m by myself, I can usually avoid talking to people by just not making eye contact, but when Elanor is with me, she usually makes eye contact with anyone and everyone, so I wind up talking to more people than I usually would. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; for the most part, people are nice and how cute Elanor is. (And how can I argue with that?) Plus, most people have a filter so they stop talking if I don’t feel like prolonging the conversation.

I’ve had to adjust my expectations and remember that it’s okay to talk to people on the bus, that I’m not on a commuter bus and no one expects me (or Elanor, for that matter) to be quiet.

I’m working on how to deal with the stroller rule. (Which, incidentally, I cannot find in writing anywhere on Metro’s website or in any of their printed materials I’ve seen. Interesting.) I bought a smaller stroller a few weeks ago, and since I’ve been at home during the day, I’ve tried bringing it on the bus with me several times when we’ve gone out to run errands.

About half the time, I’ve been asked to take Elanor out. About half of those times, the driver asks me to fold the stroller, too. And the other half of the time, the driver doesn’t say anything, and I’m able to leave Elanor in the stroller. (This is really nice especially when we’ve been shopping. Holding a diaper bag, a shopping bag, and trying to fold stroller by myself on a moving bus – all while holding a baby – is not easy. It’s enough that if we’re only going a couple of miles and we have the time, I just walk instead of having to deal with the hassle of getting on and off the bus.)

One driver told me that the reason he asks people to fold the stroller is that if he gets caught letting someone leave their kid in, he can get in trouble, which doesn’t surprise me.

I don’t know. I certainly don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but I really appreciate it when drivers don’t make me fold it. If I set the brakes, and set the stroller between my legs as well as hold onto it, it’s pretty secure. And if we’re on some of the newer articulated buses, it’s even better, because the seats right behind the handicapped ones have more legroom than the rest, and the space is just enough to fit the stroller in.

For now, I’m just trying to work around the rule. I only bring the stroller when I really have to, and otherwise just try to use the Ergo. It’s not a perfect system, obviously, but we’re figuring it out.  It’s just one of the many tradeoffs inherent in our carless lifestyle.

Coming soon: a post about my involvement with a Metro Transit Rider Advisory Panel. Yes, I’m a transit geek. I know. I’m okay with that.

Every morning it is the same old routine around here.  I get up way earlier than I’d really like to, make the excruciating decision between getting my caffeine fix from half a pot of coffee or go the quicker route of grabbing an icy cold Diet Coke from the fridge, and get on with the business of packing lunches for my school-bound children.

Once I read about a mother who organizes her pantry with special bins, each containing a type of food to put in a child’s lunchbox.  I am not that mother.

First, my pantry is much too small for over-sized totes filled only with enough snacky items for a week’s worth of lunches and even if it were – I think I could come up with about a thousand other items (cough, Pepperidge Farm Cookies, cough, cough) to fill my shelves.  Second, I am just not that organized.  Did I mention that I have a small pantry?

Instead, I look in the general area (and I use the term “area” loosely, as sometimes the “areas” of my non-organized pantry blend into one another, making them completely indistinguishable from each other) of the carbohydrate section and decide on a bread with which to make the sandwiches for the day.  White or wheat?  White or wheat?  These are tough decisions.

Then, I rest for a minute and drink my caffeine.

After I am a little more alert, I check the deli drawer for fresh meat and decide whether today will be a turkey and havarti day or a peanut butter and jelly day.  You just never know in my house.  When the sandwiches are made, it is time to check the fruit situation (and no, fruit snacks – even the really, really good ones, don’t count).

This could go one of two ways.  Either a fresh fruit item, like a banana or cut up apple, will make its way to the lunchboxes or something resembling real fruit, like a fruit cup, will be the choice of the day.  I know, it is a highly complex form of decision making that only the inside of my head can determine and is greatly influenced by how quickly that aforementioned caffeine has made its way into my bloodstream.

On to the “extras” part of the lunch building task – and this is even more complex, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Granola bars, fruit leathers, crackers, popcorn, nuts, pretzels . . . how does one choose?   I like to close my eyes and grab the first two items that my hand lands on.

I told you it was complex.

After adding a dairy item, like yogurt or a string cheese, the lunches are almost complete. . .

Drinks!

I forgot drinks!  I race down to the refrigerator in the garage, where we keep all the beverages.  I make yet another difficult choice between water, apple juice or the sports drink du jour – in today’s case, Gatorade, which is an excellent choice as long as my sons do not suck their entire mouths into the spout while drinking it thus giving themselves a semi-permanent blue stain around their lips for the remainder of the school day.  This is especially fun when it is picture day.

Add a napkin, a cold pack and zip it up.  Voila!  Lunch is done, and it only took me 10 minutes!  10 minutes that I could have spent sleeping, but there are no lengths to a mother’s love and the need to pack a nutritious lunch for her offspring, each and every day.

Now, let’s just hope they eat what I packed and do not trade their entire lunch for one Ding Dong.

What are your time saving tips for packing lunches for school-aged children?  Do you have a system, or do you just wing it like I do?  I’d love to hear your strategy!  And if you’re the mother with the bins, I don’t even want to hear about it, okay?   (said with a smile because secretly I’m totally jealous of those bins)

Carrie can be found hanging out at her personal blog Stop Screaming I’m Driving! where she is kept busy wrangling three kids, one goofy Aussie, and her very own firefighter. She can be bribed with lattes and offers to do her laundry. Please send column suggestions to carrieb at seattle mom blogs dot com.

Every morning I get dressed for work while feeling sorry for myself for having to wake up at the crack of dawn. I usually walk past Babboo’s bedroom on my way out of the house to make sure he’s still sleeping. My gut starts to hurt at this point it the day. This is the time of day when I’m reminded that I won’t see my kid for another nine hours. I’m always tempted to wake him up, just so I can get a hug or a “bye Mommy” from him. But It’s too early for him to wake up. I know he needs to stay asleep.

Every other morning I walk to the bus stop and dream about what it would be like if we could afford for me to stay home. I think about all my lady friends from my church congregation and about the fun things they have planned that I’ll be missing while slaving away at the office. I missed their trip to the pumpkin patch last week. I’ve never been able to go to their Thursday morning playgroups. I can’t join their 9am book club. I’ve yet to attend one of their Ladies Luncheons. I am left out of their little club 100% of the time. All because I work and they don’t.

Most of them don’t know my kid’s name and they really have no idea who I am. I feel like an outsider.

And most morning, I feel sorry for myself about this. I feel left out. I feel like the world is working against me, all because I have a career and they don’t. I know it’s wrong, but I’m typically jealous of them. I know my husband The King, and I don’t have a lot of money and that’s why I work. I know it’s the best thing for our family right now. I know. And yet, why do these SAHM have nicer clothes then I do? Why do they all drive better cars? How is it that their kids dress so nice? And dude, really, how do you afford those new DVD players in your van? How can they afford to go to the museums and the zoo every week? Why do they get to put their kids down for their naps everyday and potty train their own toddlers?

And why am I so darn jealous?

Until last night.

Today is the first day, in a very long time, that I was happy about being a full time working mom.

I hung out with some of the SAHM’s from church last night. It was their monthly Girls Night out. I hadn’t even planned on going. You see, I only get a few hours a night with Babboo and The King so to give up my one chance to see them is a hard choice to make. But this night out was scheduled late in the evening, so I would still have a little bit of time with Babboo. And so I decided to join the ladies.

And dude, was it a mistake.

I had no idea that these SAHM could be so catty. And over dramatic. And just plain mean to each other. In the first thirty seconds of the evening out unnecessary drama was introduced to the party. I’m talking about scathing e-mails, mean words about people’s kids, family secrets of (those not in attendance) shared, and tears. Actual tears.

These women are all adults. They are married and have kids and families and they were acting like we were all back in high school junior high. Apparently this type of drama is uber common in their SAHM group.

And I felt like an outsider. But this time I was okay with being the outsider.

I didn’t want any part of this drama. I didn’t want to know why they all hate Rebecca’s son. I didn’t want to know why Ginny’s family all hate each other. I didn’t want to read the e-mail Samantha sent Amy before the party. I felt like all eyes were on me and that I needed to choose sides and make alliances right that second. But I don’t want to make any alliances. I don’t want to be on one side and not the other.

I just wanted to go home.

But I couldn’t. I was stuck there for the rest of the evening until my ride was ready to go home.

I finally got out of there and returned to my house. I started to recount my unbelievable evening to The King. I told him I didn’t know what to do and how I was going to make peace with all of these ladies. I mean, I have to serve with them at church. And I like them. I do. I just don’t want to be around this negativity.

So today, I’m thankful to be sitting in my quite cubicle busily working on my tasks while listening to my iPod. There aren’t any sides to choose and nobody is talking bad about me or my kid or my husband. And so what if I can’t go with them to see High School Musical III today because I’m at work.

This is where I’d rather be today.

So you SAHM’s out there, is this what it’s like for you guys? And if so, then I’m sorry.

(Today’s column was originally posted over at hola, isabel.)

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

Subscribe to ’ Double Duty One Paycheck | Subscribe to Seattle Mom Blogs

My work day changed recently.

I used to pick up my two year old son from his downtown Seattle daycare and then we would ride the Metro bus home together. This was our time together. He would sit on my lap and tell me about his day. He would tell me what he ate for breakfast and lunch. He would tell me about the library visit, or “Singing Time with Brian”, or what he did out on the playground. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he would even sing “The Wheels on the Bus” to me and the rest of the commuters. (It must be noted that often the commuters did not appreciate this and would move away from us. Oh well, their loss.) My Sweet Babboo and I had this forced alone time each day. There was no dinner to prepare, phone to answer or bathrooms to clean. It was just he and I. And I loved it.

Last week he started at a new daycare. This one isn’t in downtown Seattle, instead it’s closer to our home. It’s a good daycare full of energetic kids and innovative teachers. It’s entwined in our community and 50% cheaper then the downtown daycare. But there is no bus ride home, together, from this daycare. Instead I ride the bus alone and then drive the car to pick him up.

The first few days of the new commute I thought were great. Oh the reading I could do on the bus. I excitedly packed my book into my bag every morning and was giddy with anticipation of some reading time. I was able to finish a 700 page book last week. This is unheard of for me. Before, when I didn’t have time to read on the bus, it would have taken me months to finish a book of that size.

Babboo and I get home in the evening much later then before. This new commute just takes more time. It took a few days but eventually I realized that I missed having Babboo with me on the bus. I missed that physical interaction with him on my lap. I missed watching his face light up as he told me about his day. I missed watching the other bus riders telling me what a cute kid I had and being able to gush about him.

We get home a little later now. I quickly start to prepare dinner while returning missed phone calls and throwing the wash into the dryer. Babboo usually goes into the office to play with his toys while I’m running around like a mad man. Sometimes we’ll sit together on the couch, him playing with his blocks while I do a Soduko puzzle. But mostly life just goes one.

I miss my kid.

I decided I needed to try to get back some of our old one-on-one interaction. We have a car ride now that we didn’t have before. During this ride I have recently forced myself to turn the radio off and ask Babboo questions about his day, just like we used to do on the bus. We are both still trying to learn all the other student’s names and figure out their food menu and teaching schedule. So having these few minutes to just talk is good.

It’s still not the same as riding the bus together. Babboo’s not sitting on my lap. He isn’t touching my face while he tells me he loves me. Sure I can watch his facial expression in the rear-view mirror. But let’s be honest, that isn’t the same. (Nor is it very safe.) We aren’t walking home from the bus stop together anymore and checking out which neighbors have wind chimes (the kid is totally fascinated with wind chimes) and which neighbors have “ding-dongs” (also fascinated with door bells).

This is how it’s going to be now. I need to just make the needed adjustments and get used to it. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad.

So tell me, what is your commute like? And if you have kids, how do they factor into your commute? I’d love to hear what works for you!

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola, isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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Before I came to the United States, the concept of letting a child choose was a very alien one.

I know that makes us sound like a bunch of tyrants but those were once some of your parenting concepts in, like, times of yore. Sadly, they are still our present-day philosophies. Children are meant to be seen and not heard. Speak only when you’re spoken to. My way or the high way.

I first learnt of “limiting choices” at my older daughter’s cooperative preschool, which I’d first joined because it was close to where I’d lived in Redmond, and because it was very affordable. There were monthly compulsory parenting education classes we had to attend as part of our commitment, and I then learnt how to offer choices to my then 3.5 year old.

“Would you like to stand up or would you like me to help you stand up?”

“Would you like milk or water?”

“Would you like to clean up your toys now or after we have lunch?”

I thought it was genius. Not only did I get what I want as a parent - to make my child eat and drink what I thought was appropriate, clean up, stand up - the child also had some measure of control over the very simple act of making a choice, which in turn gave them some satisfaction and happiness in their little daily lives. 

And then I attended ANOTHER parenting class about nutrition, and we talked about power struggles over food. The nutritionist had advised that the best course of action was to:

1) accept that you have NO control what they will or will not eat

2) accept that our role as the cook was only to offer healthy choices at the dinner table and not to force the food down their little throats

Again, alien. In Malaysia, scores of parents, nannies and babysitters still sit down with a spoon in one hand and a bowl of rice in the other, in front of the TV, feeding the kids until perhaps middle school when the children themselves feel embarrassed by it (at about age 10 or 11?).

The method was fast (20 minutes tops), it was efficient and tidy (no spills, rice on the carpet, etc). And then the grownups can have a sit-down meal in peace. Who cares about learning table manners and quality family time when you don’t have to deal with messy kids, power struggles and WASTE?

Waste is perhaps the biggest issue I have with this “live and let eat” philosophy, for which is more important to your child? Giving them a chance to listen to their bodies, or having them learn not to waste food? Nutritionists and other parents have suggested maybe letting my kids take what they want (instead of me making sure they take a little of everything). They almost always end up taking a piece of bread and nothing else, so it’s back to square one.

We’ve also adopted the “No Thank You” bite rule (thanks Skye!) where they HAVE to take one obligatory bite before saying they don’t want it. And that’s what they usually do.

My dear husband has suggested cooking the same dishes every day, dishes I know they will want to eat. That is NO way to live. 

In the end, I decided waste (especially in our tough economic climate) was a more important lesson. And so, we’ve gone back to our Malaysian roots but with an American twist: I make a special bowl, rice with whatever I cook that they may not have eaten before and would normally not voluntarily eat if I let them choose, and I mix it all up like a salad or a savory rice. I split the rice up into two bowls, and then give them a choice of ten spoons or 15 spoons (gauging from the amount I’ve given them). It has worked like a miracle. They usually have only a vague idea of what they’re eating (pork or carrots or noodles). Once in a while, they will pick out something they don’t like but very rarely. In the end, they really don’t care if they know they have a choice - ten or 15 spoons, and I’m done. There’s no wastage, the kids learn to eat new and exotic types of food (even if they may not know it) and they still have a small measure of control.

Limiting choices IS genius, I tell ya.

So what are YOUR ideas for reconciling waste and want at mealtimes? Come share!

Read more of Jennifer Tai’s writing at The I’mPerfect Mom or enjoy her photos at www.jennifertai.net. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Tea Leaf Journals, email jenn[at]theimperfectmom[dot]com.

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The week before last started out with five meltdowns in two days. Five! In two days! (The kids, of course, not me. Although by the fifth one I swear I nearly had a meltdown myself.) Then we had a couple of good days with some drama and at least one more meltdown sprinkled in. Then we topped the week off with a sibling spat that ended in a split lip, one kid screaming bloody murder, the other one swearing it wasn’t their fault, and two frazzled parents at their wits end.

This past week has been only slightly better. Seems like at least one of the kids has a tantrum or meltdown at least every other day. And the fighting between the two of them is an every day occurrence.

I know what you’re saying. Welcome to parenthood, right? Sigh…

My kids are good kids. Really they are. But they are kids with a lot of emotions and feelings inside them that they don’t know what to do with. In their short lives they’ve been through more than a lot of people go through in a lifetime, not to mention that they’ve had very little control over the things they’ve had to deal with. Now they are in yet another new home, with yet another set of grown-ups in charge of their lives. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like.

According to our social worker the fact that the kids are acting out is actually a good sign. She said that means they feel safe enough with us to share their honest emotions. While intellectually I was glad to hear that, the honest truth is that it doesn’t make those meltdowns and tantrums any easier. Emotionally it’s still incredibly draining. I’m exhausted every day.

But never fear, my friends. Reinforcements are on their way. We’ve got an appointment with a family therapist who has specific training and experience working with foster and adoptive families. I talked to her on the phone the other day and she seems to know her stuff. Which is good because we need a pro! Interestingly enough we had planned to get therapy during this transitional period anyway, even before we knew who our kiddos were going to be. We thought it would be a good thing to do to get us off on the right foot and set our family up for success. Little did we know then how necessary it would be!

I have every confidence that the family therapy will be invaluable, but I also know that a large part of this is just a matter of time. Not only are we still getting to know each other (it hasn’t even been 2 months), but I’m certain the kids must be wondering if this is really their forever home. After so many moves is this really the last one? Living with that kind of uncertainty must create incredible anxiety; the kind of anxiety that no reassurances from us can ease. Only time and an adoption decree will be able prove our unconditional love and commitment.

While it’s been really hard, I don’t want to make it sound like it’s all bad all the time. We also have a lot of fun together. In fact, the last three days have been relatively drama-free. That said, I know this is just a brief calm before the next storm. There’s lots of healing to do before things can stabilize. For now we just need to savor the good moments and hang in there and ride out the rest.

This entry also posted with the Seattle PI.

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In addition to being a writer and adoptive mom, Susan Metters also carries the distinguished title of Cancer Survivor Extraordinaire. Some of her secret ambitions include meeting Dr. Phil, hosting Saturday Night Live, and rising to the top as a rock star. You can read more about Susan’s life adventures by visiting her blog with the Seattle P.I., Lemon Margaritas. If you have ideas, questions, rants, or ramblings feel free to email susan [at] seattlemomblogs [dot] com.