Food for the Frugal – one week’s worth

I don’t know what happens in your household, but around here my children would be quite happy to eat pizza or pasta every night of the week, for a month, probably several months.
Tuesday – baked potatoes with sour cream and chives, pan fried sausages [bake extra potatoes to use in Frittata tomorrow/make double and freeze as side dish/ save one sausage for the Frittata]
Wednesday – Frittata with green salad and Winter coleslaw [make double coleslaw to add to tomorrow]
Thursday - Cheesy Rice with Kale and Winter Coleslaw [double the boiled rice, save half and freeze for later – Monday]
Friday – Fisherwoman’s Pie, pastry topped, include a cup of peas and corn to have a one pot dish and save washing up. [set up beans to sprout for Monday]
Saturday – Egg, Spinach and Potato Curry, serve with bread or Naans [make double to freeze but omit the eggs]
Sunday - Roast chicken and potatoes with roasted root vegetables [double the veg to use in cous cous later, strip the chicken bare[!] , refridgerate left over meat, make stock from the carcass for cous cous and freeze the rest for soup]
Monday – Stir Fried rice with the left over chicken, Beansprouts with Sesame seeds

The point here is to try and keep one or two steps ahead of the starving masses. Anyway, enough of such irrelevancies as nobody is interested in what we’re eating this week. However, it may just be that a few people may be mightily interested to know that my son, the former neophobe, will also be eating this menu, this week.

"Who?"

"Him!"


Don't forget to keep your eyes and ideas open to "Jessica."

Earwigging the wise

Please scroll down for Smiley Saturday / SOOC

“It’s just grossly unfair! Don ya know how lucky you are?”
“Me? I am be lucky?”
“Yeah. You sure are the luckiest kid I ever knew.”
“I am be lucky?”
“Yeah. Jus tell me this. What other kid on the planet get to eat chocolate every day? Huh? Well?”
“Me.”
“Right! You. Just you. Only you. Nobody else on the planet gets to eat chocolate every day. It’s just not fair.”
“Not fair?”
“No! In fact…..now I come to think of it you get chocolate more than once a day…..you get your chocolate in your Advent Calendar, sometimes you get Nutella sandwiches and you always get chocolate pudding if you eat the other crap.”
“Crap?”
“Food you don’t like.”

All too often I need an independent third party perspective on domestic matters. I believe we have reached the point where we need to scale down chocolate consumption, now that a more broadly based diet has been “generalized.”

Here's an update on that one:-

11. Sat – wholewheat pizza with pepperoni, mozzarella and spinach, bean burrito
12. Teriyaki chicken, chard and brown rice
13. Custard filled éclairs
14. Cut apple pieces
15. Shredded gem lettuce, grated raw carrot, chopped tomatoes, sunflower seeds, Chinese dressing and terryaki chicken
16. Vanilla pudding with chocolate chips
17. Thai chicken curry [mild] steamed greens brown rice
18. Macaroni with fresh chopped tomatoes, garlic, spring [green onions], sautéed celery, carrot and onion
19. First ever whole [small] slice of pizza [red pepper, onion, tomatoe, spinache and chese]
20. Macaroni and beef ravioli, egg nog
21. A prune!
22. Lemon pepper pappardell, onions, garlic, and bacon
23. Pumpkin and coconut bread
24. 3 prunes
25. Popcorn
26. Toasted open cheddar cheese sandwich [first ever toast]
27. Fresh apple slices [skin on]
28. Non chilli chilli with mashed potatoes and white French bread
29. One scoop of TJ’s sun dried tomato and pesto torta on one tortilla chip
30. Meatloaf and gravy, scalloped potatoes and mixed [frozen] vegetables
31. Chilli with kidney beans [mild] with mashed potatoes and mixed [frozen] vegetables - new phrase = chew it or you’ll choke!
32. Mushroom gnocchi [2] large pasta shells with spinach and mushroom
33. Hot dog in white hot dog bun [half]

One taste, teaspoon or half teaspoon of each of the following
34. Roast potato
35. Roast parsnip with rosemary
36. Garlic mushroom
37. Sautéed crook neck squash and courgettes
38. Pureed sweet potatoes
39. Pureed carrots
40. Pureed swede
41. Cauliflower in bechamel
42. White Corn on the cob
43. Brussel sprouts and chestnuts
44. Creamed spinach and toasted almonds
45. Green beans
46. Leeks in white sauce
47. Pearl onions in cheese sauce
48. Steamed brocolli
49. Sausage
50. Bacon
51. Turkey
52. Gravy
53. Cranberry and orange sauce
54. Chestnut stuffing
55. Parsley stuffing
56. Yorkshire pudding
57. Cornbread muffin [Owen’s recipe]
58. Cinnamon raisin English muffin toasted with butter [scored 7!}
59. Home-made meat loaf and gravy, pureed carrots, creamed spinach and leeks with pearl onions
60. Pecan pie and cream
61. Couscous and apricot turkey tangine
62. Whole pasta, pesto, garlic, prawns [shrimp]
63. Apricot sausages, mashed potato, half a brussel sprout, leek, sweet potato
64. Savoury turkey croquettes, spinach nuggets, sweet potato, mashed swede [rutabaga] marinara sauce
65. Wholewheat English muffin with nutella Toasted!
66. Turkey meatballs, marinara sauce [with spinach] and fettucine
67. Sticky Toffee Pudding
68. Roasted pepper and tomato soup, sausage roll, crab cake, cheese quiche, mushroom turnover.
69. Cinnamon raisin toast with butter [one third of a slice!]
70. Campbells chicken and stars soup [small cup] TJ’s individual mini cheese tomato and pepperoni pizza = all of it
71. home made shepherds pie with frozen peas, much lower level of protest [apart from the poisonous peas] Half slice of home baked bread and smear of poisonous butter
72. ‘spicy’ peanut cabbage, bacon, onion, spinach scramble

SOOC Smiley Saturday - Another brilliant idea by someone

We have had food fights around here for many a long year, a battle of wills I thought. As usual, as it turned out, I thought quite wrongly. It was not a battle of wills but something quite different indeed. It was neophobia, a fear of new foods. Once I discovered this mind changing fact, I changed my mind, my attitude and my approach.

At that time my young wee neophobe was very fond of the alphabet and numbers. He also had any number of hard and fast rules. One of his hard and fast rules was that he would only eat or drink from particular pieces of crockery, one bowl and one plastic cup. As a busy old mum, I found this most inconvenient as I was always challenged in the washing up department. If the particular bowl or cup were unavailable, soaking perhaps, or in the dish washer, he quite simply would not eat or drink until they reappeared.

Being of a somewhat laxidaisical frame of mind in the housework department, I recalled that in my own youth I was also fond of a particular bowl, one iwht a rabbit at the bottom. The bowl would be full of whatever, but bit by bit, spoonful by spoonful, ever so gradually, the tide would fall and the bunny, in all it’s gloriousness, would be revealed. With this recollection, I had yet another brilliant idea. I would fashion a bowl to tempt my neophobe to do likewise. It was genetic. It was bound to be a sure fired solution to the food problem. I played on his passion and exploited it ruthlessly.

Pottery is a time consuming business, but after a few weeks and several attempts, I eventually managed to produce a bowl with a tempting array of the alphabet on the rim and a semi icon on the bottom. On the bottom, under the food, were the letters ‘E M P T Y.’ How could anyone resist those adorable capitals, because as we all know, capitals are always especially adorable.

I presented the bowl, whilst empty to my youngest son and he was indeed delighted with the bowl, or rather the letters on the bowl. I permitted him to carry it around for a few days, clutched to his chest to familiarize himself with his new acquisition. He put dinosaurs in it, counted them in, counted them out. All was going spiffingly to plan.

One morning, inauguration morning, I filled the alphabet bowl with baby oatmeal, the gluten free, casein free variety of oatmeal that would clear out his little intestinal system, add no end of beneficial nutrition to his three only food diet and all would be well. I beamed at my beloved, soon to be no longer a neophobic son. He, on the other hand, did not look at me. He looked at his bowl, full of unaccustomed slime, but I had anticipated protest, I was used to the yelling, I knew he’d run away.

I did not know that he would upend the bowl and empty it. But I still have a lot to learn.

Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.lighteningonline.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/smiley-saturday-1.jpg" /></a>

Pssst!

I have to whisper, because you know I wouldn’t like to jinx it, but I wanted to share something with you, the week just past, because this is the weekend when we can share secrets, if we share them very quietly, so that you know who doesn’t get wind of it.

Here’s a few things:-
1. California shrimp sushi rolls
2. Pot stickers one shrimp one pork
3. Fish sticks, peas, corn, mashed potatoes and one micro dot of tomato sauce
4. Home made [white] bread
5. Egg and potato curry with coconut milk carrots, onions and celery
6. bread and butter pudding with marmalade [a bit like French toast]
7. wed – 10/12/08 chicken corn enchiladas, peas, sloppy joes with lentils and tomatoes, spinach nuggets
8. thur – golden carrots, mashed potato, sausage, tomato sauce, sorrel
9. Fri – white fish fillets [breadcrumbed], red chard, rosemary potato chips, salad, avocado sushi rolls
10. Sat – wholewheat pizza with pepperoni, mozzarella and spinach, bean burrito……….

……these are some of the things that entered my son’s mouth and were swallowed, only a teaspoonful of each one of course, but I suspect, although it’s too soon to say with any certainty, that I may have lost my neophobe, possibly. They remained in his digestive system. The screams were more habit than painful, you know, the lowest common denominator, if in doubt ‘yell your head off,’ but he stayed in his chair. As he chewed, sort of, he examined his biceps waiting for them to grow, which they surely are? All in all, I think we are entering an entirely new phase of life, growth and change. To date none of the ‘new foods’ has rated anything higher than a 3 out of 10. Most are zero, or minus infinity, but all the same……..what do you think? He’s nearly 8. We’ve been at this for five years. Is it really possible? Is that how long it takes for some people? Every day exposure for 365 days times five? To desensitize them? So now I’m wondering, maybe, just maybe, in the future, say in…….what?......five years, perhaps food might be a source of pleasure? Am I jinxing him? Am I getting ahead of myself? Will I have to delete this tomorrow? Oooo pushy parents! In the meantime, please send emergency supplies of toilet paper, urgent!

Peanut Butter Bumpkins

Stage one

We make them together, although she has the impression of independence.

Her creation would fail most nutritional examinations but it a triumph of visual delight.

Stage two

She reveals her handiwork to the boys for their approval.

We have already discussed her presentation in advance. On no account should the ‘trigger word,’ peanut butter be mentioned.

“Ta dah!” she beams!
“Dey are being pumpkins?”
“No they’re candy. I made em for ya! All by myself!”
“You are being dah awesome chef.”
“You’re gonna love em. They’re made of….....….food colouring, frosting, butter and…........confectioner’s sugar. Mostly sugar really. A whole tonne of sugar.”
“Sugar! I am love the affectionate sugars.”

Stages three and up

Touch, smell, lick…….. well, you know the drill.

Addendum - Recipe and book review

The recipe comes from this book which I would wholeheartedly recommend as it has lots of fun ideas, especially if you’re a foreigner and not very good at Halloween. The Book is called “The Big Book of Halloween – Creative & Creepy Projects for Revellers of all Ages by Laura Dover Doran. It is thoroughly suitable for children as there are ‘easy’ projects too. I think I could have done with this book a few years ago. I think we will be able to use it again next year.

I love all hobbies and crafts but I’m in the minority around here. It is attractively illustrated without too many surplus words, or rather there are lots of surplus words but they’re arranged in such a manner that you can tune out the full page of text and concentrate on the insert box, the main event. The instructions are simple and numbered. There are several unusual, home made and cheap costumes too. The models are ordinary, friendly, pleasant people rather than intimidating super models. It is well organized into easily recognizable chapters.

Peanut butter Pumpkins

Combine 115 grammes / four ounces or 1 stick of melted butter with 340 grammes / 12 ounces of peanut butter and 454 grammes / 16 ounces of icing sugar / powdered sugar / confectioners sugar. [see how tricky it is to translate these things!] Smoosh everything together. I would add the sugar gradually as it’s a stiff work out for the muscle challenged. Add the orange food colouring early and it will lighten the more sugar you add. It’s really hard to add the food colouring at the end as the dough is like cement. You do have to add all the sugar or otherwise your pumpkins won’t hold their form [too soft]. Roll the mixture into little balls. You can mark the sides to make them look like pumpkins but leave that step out if cocktail sticks are lethal weapons. Add a trail or stalk of livid green icing / frosting to complete. They taste better after chilling for an hour. The recipe says that the yield is 15 to 20 pumpkins but we had 34! So ours must have been considerably smaller. My daughter ate two and said that was more than enough to last her the next 24 hours as they’re very rich.

Snippet - Sugar Coated

“Come along guys, time for cereal!”
“Ooo I hate all dez chores!”

Anyone needed further words can go over "here" to my other site "alien."

Junk food

I am a woman of strong convictions, so I waste no time, take out my pen and write to the local school district about their disgraceful policy on school lunches.

Not a mung bean in sight, nor in storage. How can young minds learn anything when they are starved of good, nutritionally well balanced meals. Where is the tofu may I ask? Whole-wheat is a good start but wheat-free options should be a priority. Fresh fruit and yoghourt is all very well but what about the lactose intolerant. Haven’t you people heard of soy? Don’t you know there’s more to a salad bar than lettuce and tomatoes? Whilst the new recyclable lunch container policy is commendable, shouldn’t there be a complete ban on paper towels too? We parents have high standards that are inviolate.

I pause as I hear the garage door open.

Children tumble into the house.

Spouse brings up the rear mounded high with sacks of groceries.
“You’ll never guess what?”
“What?”
“Tell her. Hey! Tell your mum what we bought.”
“Um……”
“Come on! Tell her! No words? O.k. just show her then. He chose it himself, just like that!”



























If that’s the 18th food then I’m a beansprout.

I toss the letter in the bin.

Traitor.

Tiptoe through the tulips

One of our ongoing campaigns, is to continue to try and expand junior’s diet. Currently, he eats 17 foods. [translation = jolly annoying but more commonly referred to as neophobic] Ideally I would wish for our family to enjoy a meal together in the evening, but that dream may be a while away yet.

For the time being I am more than satisfied with a lesser deal. The lesser deal these days is for everyone to be at the table together, for a period of time. The time period is vague. [translation = more than a minute fits the bill] When I say ‘at’ the table, this is because I don’t expect anyone to really sit, in the conventional meaning of the term. [translation = hunkered down, kneeling, draped, or in close proximity to a chair, are all good enough]

At first, this might see quite a low bar. ‘But Madeline, surely if you have such feeble expectations of your children, they have nothing to rise towards?’ And indeed, as always, I would applaud that viewpoint. The trouble with that viewpoint, is that it is blind to a few little matters that are of great import.

For instance, if you have a limited diet and are required to be at the table with other people, then you have to see and smell their very offensive food. Sometimes you may also have to hear it too. Whilst I do not know what smells you dislike, I could hazard a guess that you would have a hard time eating your dinner in a male public restroom. Likewise, even if you are not a vegetarian, a slaughterhouse wouldn’t be my first choice of venue, to eat my tuna sandwich. We are all familiar with tales of foreign travel and exotic foods. [translation = chocolate covered cockroaches anyone?]

Hence, for my son to be at the table, whilst other people eat other things, this translates into a momentous achievement. [translation = thus we unite to chant ‘remember, everybody likes different things,’ but next time I’ll pick a better tune, or maybe better words, or basically something less irritating during the following months of repetition]

This means, that even a simple lunch time sandwich may cause great difficulties for the person who finds that peanut butter is ‘poison.’ Strangely, my other son finds the smell, taste and sight of bananas very offensive too. This is a great nuisance, since bananas are one of his little brothers 17 foods.

The trouble with only eating 17 foods, is that each of those 17 items appears more frequently in a daily diet. If for example, you as an adult person, enjoyed caviar or oysters or smoked salmon, even if you could afford to eat such things, you probably wouldn’t eat them every day, or even every other day. None of them would be around to torture the other people in your household very often. Even if you threw caution to the wind and stuffed yourself on smoked salmon for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and squeezed in a morning and afternoon salmon snack too, at the end of the day, the packet would be empty. [translation = but your tummy would be full to capacity]

As an aside, maybe you could find 17 foods that you could exist on for the next year? Just you, no need to concern yourself with other people’s foibles. Imagine you’re on a desert island. [translation = with fresh daily shipments by helicopter] Each item must be a single item. [translation = no casseroles] Don’t cheat and combine one thing with another. [translation = spaghetti but no sauce, chicken but no breadcrumbs, or breadcrumbs and chicken separately, they’d be two items] Be careful of pies as the crust and the contents will be at least two items. Even a nice safe soup is likely be a cheat, and I know that you’ll put your croutons on the side, for later or dessert. Two of your 17 items must be beverages. E.g. milk and water. That gives you 15 things to choose. Now come along now, you’re an adult, so don’t forget to ensure that you have a well balanced nutritional diet. Let me know how you get on. 365 days and counting!

But as usual, I digress. Meanwhile………..



As always, my timing is flawless. [translation = 5:30 p.m.] The children are absorbed in the ‘electronics’ reward time, as I nip back in from the garden with the world’s most perfect tomato in my hot little hands for my lunch. [translation = home grown and still warm from the sunshine.] The air conditioning in the single family room, ensures that their air flow is pure. [translation = no chance of him detecting that a tomato has entered the house] My handy dandy egg slicer, means that my sandwich is ready in a trice. I skip to the dining room to eat my lunch. [translation = summer holidays may result in malnutrition for some.] I sit at the table, as a proper grown up should and admire the bouquet of flowers. [translation = not from an admirer but from a guilt ridden dentist]

After one mouthful, I realize that I’ve forgotten the chives. I dither. Eat now, whilst the going is good and skip the addition of perfection, or add the perfection and risk skipping the eating? I slip from my chair and move silently back into the kitchen. [translation = the stealth of the truly motivated] I return to the table with a handful of chives and a pair of scissors, but as I open the blades I hear a howl from the family room, following by speedy steps that stop at my side. He tiptoes in place with his fingers neatly pinching his nostrils closed, eyes shut, “dat is dah terrible, dat is dah awful, dat is dah stinkiest ever, ever, ever!” His eyes blink open and then snap shut again before he whizzes away to bellow over his shoulder, “But das o.k. coz everybody is liking dah different things!”

Well something is getting through!



Not ‘one sandwich’ but several items = tomato, mayonnaise, slice of bread, one egg, ignore salt and pepper, all equates to four food items. Just as well I skipped the chives.

Tenacity

When I mention that my son has a limited diet, many people are sympathetic. Many people experience the child who only eats a diet of pizza, chicken nuggets and other fast food items. My son eats "none of these" things, with the exception of fries. [translation = chips] Currently he enjoys a diet of some 17 exclusive items. Whilst I take many opportunities to widen his diet, I’m not in the least averse to a little help from any quarter. [translation = I have no shame]

I am up a ladder in the kitchen replacing the camping items. It is a galley kitchen. [translation = major thoroughfare with the family room and garage at one end, and access to the rest of the house at the other end.] My daughter pursues her little brother with a vengeance. I stand back and let her do her stuff. I have no idea why she has suddenly got a bee in her bonnet, but I’m more than happy to give her free reign, if only for my own amusement. The bag of salty pistachio nuts was a treat for the camping trip. My eldest son is the nut aficionado, like his Dad. My daughters like nuts, but they can more or less take them or leave them. Junior has yet to eat a nut, any nut. Even the universal peanut butter is poison to him.

Junior now likes salt, preferably from the salt cellar in a continuous stream. [translation = the consequence of permitting ordinary household items to exist without being bolted down or locked up]

She grasps a handful of pistachio nut shells, not the nuts. She’s eaten the nuts herself. She figures that the shell without the nut, salt covered, would be a great preliminary step, shell licking, prior to nut licking. I’m with her. It’s a sound theory. A shell is an inert thing, not a nut, a mere casing and not food.

“Lick it!” she commands. Junior makes rooster noises in response and legs it. translation = runs away very fast] She is nine and a half, and fit. He is six and a half but he has greater motivation on his side. [She stomps after him, “Come here you! You’ll like it, it’s salty, hmmm yummy, I just love it, you’ll like it too, give it a go.” Jumping Jack flash is still careening all over the house, utilizing a zig zag running approach to throw her off the scent. “Stop it! Stop it now! Stand still or I’ll sit on yah!” she bellows. Still shriller shrieks are emitted from Sparky as she hunts him down, a squib on the loose. “Just lick it. You love salt, you’ll love this, it’s great,” she persuades.
“Come here you little monkey!” she squalks, getting breathless. Junior responds with monkey noises and swings his body around the newel post of the staircase with aplomb. His agility is startling and his tippy toe escape sounds like a machine gun on the wooden floor.

They traverse through the kitchen, back and forth on switch backs. “I’m gonna get you!” she taunts, more positive than practical. Squeaky now has springs under his feet and wings for arms, so light on his feet, as fleet as a hummingbird. [translation = but a lot noisier] “They’re just shells darn it! There’s no nut, just the shell, the salty shell, it’s not even food!” she barks with frustration. “They’re only……er……..made of….? What are nut shells made of mum?” she asks, leaning against the ladder for a breather whilst junior sputs and spurts.
“Well, they’re er. … made of……woody….” I’m saved from declaring my ignorance as she hares off after her prey. “Stop it. Stop running. You know I’m gonna win,” she declares without any corroborative evidence. They dodge around the sofa, each vying for position. “Listen, sea shells aren’t food right? So nut shells aren’t food either. You’d lick a salty sea shell wouldn’t ya? This is no different it’s just a shell!” She launches herself over the body of the sofa, but he’s off like a whippet at the starter gate, miles ahead. They streak back through the kitchen. She pauses. “Why won’t he lick em Mom? Aren’t they just like sea shells? What are sea shells made of?”
“Well….they’re er…..made of……” Junior skates past again darting hither and thither like a beserk clockwork mouse. She plops herself down on the floor, “I just don’t get it. What is his problem?” I step down from the ladder and hunker down next to her, beads of sweat forming on her brow.


“Thanks for trying lovie, but maybe we can find better ways?”
“I thought that was a better way.”
“I know you did dear, very logical, and I think he was having fun really. I think you’re right, that making food more fun is a good way to go.”
“Do you remember when we made things out of mini marshmallows and cocktail sticks?” she beams.
“I do.”
“Didn’t work though huh!”
“Well he "touched" them and after a few days, he would join in and make them too.”
“Do you remember when we played finger soccer with peas? That was fun too.”
“I do.”
“Do you remember when we made faces outta fruit?” I listen to her list the many ways in which we have attempted to entice her brother to at least be on touching terms with food stuffs. It is a very long list. I’m surprised that she remembers so many of them.
“Do you know what?”
“What dear?”
“I told my friend about the funny things we do with him.”
“Oh yes.” I wait, her shoulders curl inwards, her chin drops ever so slightly, her fringe languishes over her eye lashes.
“They said that he was weird.”
"Indeed!"
"I know," she sighs, "everyone is different, it's o.k. to like different things," she parrots back at me. There's nothing like a direct quote to make your appreciate the full banality of your own words. [translation = tolerance sounds so feeble]
“Ah! Well…..did you have fun doing those things? He started to have fun too. As long as we’re happy doing the things that we’re doing, and not hurting anyone else, then I don’t think it matters what "other people think?” Now there's fighting talk!

Perseveration with a sprinkling of OCD [on the side]

“I don’t think he cares one way or another, as long as they serve chips. [translation = French Fries]
“True, but so many restaurants don’t have any cruet.”
“I know, but there again, if they have anything, they usually have the salt.”
“Unless we go to an Italian, then you have two foot of pepper mill being lobbed around by some minor, but not a salt cellar in sight!”
“Odd combination really. There again, if we go Italian, there probably won’t be any chips either.”
“It’s so strange.”
“Strange. A very strange country.”
“Mind you, if he carries on the way he is, we could probably do with avoiding that particular perversion.”
“True, I don’t think people understand.”
“Well it’s so unhygienic, regardless of the other health risks.”
“Still, nobody noticed last time.”
“That was over three months ago now, and they did, notice, that is to say.”
“The last time we went to a restaurant?”
“Yes. So he’s not really had the opportunity in the meantime.”
“Do you still have the salt cellar locked up?”
“Oh yes. Stuffed at the back of the cupboard, the one full of cereal.” [translation = disguised by the horror of the equivalent of barbed wire, that is breakfast cereal.]
"Oooo! I've just thought! Do you think we could count it as a 'new food'?"
"Food? More like a chemical or an additive."
"I like that. We count the additive."
"Well, I don't know, might be considered cheating."
"Well if salt is a chemical, then so is water, H2O and all that."
"Gosh. I just had a thought too! He drinks water. Water isn't part of his 13 foods."
"You're a genius! That means we've hit 14 foods without even trying."
"How come we never thought of that before?"
"At this rate of progress, he won't be a neo any more." [translation = neophobic, a person who eats less than 20 foods]
“She didn’t look very happy at the time.”
“Who?”
“The server.”
“Which server?”
“At the restaurant.”
“Right! When she lifted the tablecloth to see a six year old chugging down on a salt shaker.”
“Hmm, I think it was the other three empty ones that he’d stolen from the other tables that freaked her out.”
“Just think, he’ll live for ever, like a little pickled er……...”
“Onion?”
‘No, er……?”
“Pickled egg? Roll mop herring, pepper, walnut……?”
“Hardly! And none of those are American.”
“What then?”
“Oh I know, Gherkin!”
“Ah! Dill pickle! Actually, they’re all in vinegar. H must be more like an anchovy!”
“Hmm, he’s certainly swimming against the tide.”

Health Warning – each salt cellar only a few grains in them
Healthy Note – many children and some autistic ones, enjoy lining things up
Caution – don’t try this at home. [translation = or in a restaurant]

The Basic principles of parenting

You only need to know one. The one principle that all parents need to know and apply is ‘consistency.’ It’s better for the parent, it’s perfect for the child. If the child happens to be autistic, then woe betide the parent that quibbles with the undoubted soundness of this GOLDEN rule. The parent of the autistic child must apply the same consistent rules to that child several thousands of times, preferably in the same manner to avoid confusion. [most probably of the parent] Should you, the parent, be tempted to deviate from this course, then you only have yourself to blame when the whole house of cards comes crashing down upon your head. I know more than a few parents have difficulty with this first and most basic of steps, but it behoves us all to heed these words well. There can be no back sliding, no namby pamby, weak willed spineless parenting styles.

I return home with renewed fortitude to conquer rather than tread water. I have envelops to push, campaigns to promote and the determination to follow through even if it kills me. Oh yes, there is nothing like a 7 minute emergency trip for milk at 7/11 [translation = almost the corner shop] to recharge a parent’s batteries.

I step inside just in time to catch the youngest speech delayed one as he scampers out of the bathroom, naked. Yes, naked again due in part to "tactile defensiveness," which in turn, is part of the "sensory integration" issue, because few things are simple or straight forward any more. This is a task, that we seem to have been working on forever. Apart from the speech delay, and the use of language, for current purposes it is a three part 'problem': "sequencing," [going through the same steps in the right order] "ideation," [being able to visualise the end result] and of course, my friend and yours, "task completion," [getting to the end.]

I hold him gently by the forearms, turn his body towards mine, find my cheerleader voice, pause, to ensure that I have his attention and say the same words that I have already said too many times to mention today, “clothes on dear!” He sighs as his body slumps, chin to chest, so that he is better able to gird his bare loins and growl. Suddenly his body snaps to attention, the soles of his feet stomp on the floor as he says, with rigid arms and spiked fingers, “ya know, you need to use dah different words! Dowz words are soooooo boring.” His chest pops out towards my chin, just enough to tip me over backwards onto my bottom. In this position I am better able to watch him depart, squealing, “run, run, run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me I’m the Gingerbread man!”

It's a shame that we can't use the American equivalent, but of course it doesn't rhyme. Nevermind either version is probably a good quote for a neophobic.

Weaning onto 'solid' food

I attempt friendly chit chat with a stiff upper lip to hide the cat’s cradle of elastic bands covering "my braces." As it turns out, this woman works at some health thigummy place and her husband has had jaw surgery. She commiserates with me about liquid food and stray fibres. She advises me of the importance of protein in my diet. I used to have a vague and random knowledge of the subject, but over the last few years and especially lately, such matters have dwindled in priority. Too stress the point, she reminds me that a lack of protein can have dire consequences for an otherwise healthy person. She leans forward to belabour the point, ‘yur hair il fall out in hand fulls!” I consider the tufts of grey hair that currently decorate my scalp.

I return home with renewed vigour to consume yet another chocolate shake with extra soy protein powder to clog up the braces and lure cavities.

I do not share my son’s need for perfection. The ‘that’ll do’ approach dominates. [translation = if in doubt, give up] For novelty’s sake, I decide to read the label and torture my brain with a little mathematical calculation. I determine that two ‘scoops’ of foul protein powder should be the new order of the day. The only problem with this plan is that I have mislaid the measuring scoop, or more truthfully, that "a certain lizard" of our acquaintance, has a greater need than mine. Now that it has been contaminated I am less inclined to retrieve it. I ‘guess,’ plop a couple of shovelfuls into the liquidizer and stab ‘on.’ Once the power has been cut, junior emerges from his hiding spot with his hands still over his ears, with a touch of "enthusiasm."

“You are have chocolate milkshake?” he beams rhetorically.
“I am.”
“It is cold?”
“Oh no, just room temperature, just the way you like it.”
“I do not like it.”
“I know.”
“You do not like it either I am finking.”
“You’re not wrong there matey.” I tip it into a tall glass, a glass glass because plastic tumblers that are mangled in a dish washer are foul. It takes a long time for the contents to empty, thick, foamy, glutenous. We look at it together.
“It is a liquid?” I don’t answer immediately as I try to work out the ‘right’ answer.
“I fink maybe you are going to be eating it.” Always better to let him answer his own questions, as it’s bound to save on a few meltdowns. “Maybe you are wanting a straw?” he seems to ask himself. I am delighted with this considerate consideration. “Perhaps, you are needing a spoon. You are needing a very small spoon?” he mentions in a dubious tone as we both contemplate braces, elastic bands and mouth hardware in general. We look at each other, pupils locked on pupils. I lift the glass and tilt it to my lips. The surface fails to yield. My glass is filled with a solid cylinder of milkshake. For the moment I would prefer to avoid the debate about what foods are "solid" to be eaten, and which are liquid, to be drunk.

“I know!" he pipes, "it is chocolate pudding, so I can be eating it for you!”
Oh good o, that solves that one then! He is such a solution orientated little guy. If there is a causal connection between "male pattern balding" and "neophobia," he may just have licked it! Or maybe, eaten it. It's enough to make your "hair" stand on end, if you have any. I assume that I am therefore destined to be the bald one of the family. At least I already have my "glasses" as a prop.

p.s.Yes, it is a ‘new food’ because it’s voluntary, it is a familiar food in a different form or at least it is if "neophobia" is in your household.

Clueless

We sit at the table on the last spot of homework, a cross-word for the first grader. Rather than written clues, it has pictures. The last slot is blank. The icon depicts a bowl filled with some kind of liquid and a spoon. It begins with s and ends in p. It is a foodstuff that junior has never consumed. [nor likely to in the near future] I think that he is being awkward.

You would think after all this time, I would be more 'with it,' in the autism department. My learning curve in other areas of my life, is advancing, as evidenced by my ability to understand the humor in "my pal's posting." This is fun, this is progress. In theory it is evidence that despite my advancing years, you can teach an old dog new tricks. At the same time, when it comes to autism, I always feel that I am several step, if not leagues, behind.

His aversion to food ["neophobia"] often leads to difficulties. A long time back, when he was first evaluated, whenever a food item came up in the pictures, he refused to answer, would not say the word aloud. Due to his tactile defensiveness, he also refused to point to the correct answer because then his fingertip would come into contact with paper. It took a wee while to get over that particularly difficulty, until we rephrased the question from ‘which one of these do you eat?’ to ‘which one of these would your sister eat?’

I think we are experiencing the same issue with the homework.

For myself, following jaw surgery, I am so heartily sick of Cock-a-Leekie, Mullagatawny, split pea, puree etc., that I find my sense of humor is under strain.
“Lets think about it shall we? What did I have earlier today for a snack?”
“Er, you are having dah chocolate milk,” he drools in a breathy tone.
“Yes, but not that snack, that is a snack that you drink, this is a snack that you eat.”
“Oh.”
“Can you think of anything else perhaps? What did I have later, the thing that smelt bad?”
“Everyfink dat you eat is smelling bad except dah chocolate milk!” I seem to have mislaid my ‘thinking out of the box’ skills, and a small sigh escapes.
“How about I show you a tin of it?”
“You have some in a tin?”
“I do. I have lots of tins of it!” I nip out to the garage and return with an armful of tins to park in front of him on the table. “There you go. What are these?”
“Dey are cans. Cans is beginning wiv dah ‘c’ and is ending in dah ‘s’. Dat is bad. Dat is not dah right answer. I am a bad student. Mrs. Ko will be giving me dah bad grades because my brain is too tiny today!” He weeps and his head drops to his arms on the table. It’s frightening how quickly he can spiral down into despair. They are real tears.
“Not at all, you are very clever and a great student. Now how about we read the words on the can? Look!” He raises his heavy head and dewy eye lashes, "it is saying 'soup,' I already am knowing dat but it dah wrong answer.”
“No! It’s not, it’s the right answer, you knew it all the time, how clever you are.”
“What! What? What! ‘Soup’ is being dah right answer?”
“Yes dear! You’re right!”
He spits and stutters, bristles and sputters, “but, but, but ….you said it wuz for dah eating kind of food! You are dah idiot! Soup is dah liquid, so you are drinking it not eating!”

Actuarial skills – 57 varieties

If your home houses a picky eater, you may find yourself spending an unnatural amount of time with fictitious conjectures into the future. [translation = my own food fetish] If your picky eater is also autistic, then the problem magnifies itself into catastrophic proportions. In my son’s particular case, he is the worst kind, worse than a picky or fussy eater. He is a neophobe. That’s right, he’s afraid of neo’s. “What pray?” I hear you cry, “is a ‘neo?’” For current purposes, we’ll say that it is something ‘new,’ which means that he is phobic about eating new things.



A neophobe eats less than 20 different items of food. Currently, he eats 9 'foods,' a considerable improvement on he previous 3 foods, although it has taken us 3 years to reach this staggering pinnacle. Parents should note that it is cheating to count different varieties of Milano cookies. It is cheating to count different brands of cookies that are like Milano cookies, but hopefully cheaper. It is cheating to count Saltines or other crackers. Why does he have such expensive tastes? Who was the idiot who first gave him one of those biscuits? [translation = cookies]

Yes, life is very unfair for the parent desperate in the desire to re-catogorise the primary food groups of the world. If you can call ‘cookies’ a food ‘type,’ [please?] then, whatever configuration they might take on, they still only count as ONE.

For the sake of the mathematically challenged, such as myself, I feel it’s safer to round up, to be cautious. Certainly more optimistic than to round down. So lets say that he’s six years old, give or take a couple of months, so that’s not too much of a stretch. Hence if a six year old manages to consume one new ‘food’ during a three month campaign, this would mean that, all things being equal, during the course of a whole year, four additional foods would be added to his diet. Ergo, by the age of 18, projecting forward, we might reasonably expect that he will have achieved a diet of 48 foods. If we add those foods that he has already managed to acquire during the prior six years, and we must, ‘add’ that is, that would reach a grand total of 57 foods. Could that really be possible? Maybe I should ask "Mr. Big brain,", but since he is also a Brit, I think that automatically disqualifies him, as 'Beanz Meanz Heinz' ain't gonna cut it.

I glug another bottle of Ensure, strawberry flavour, to nourish the body, if not the soul. If I continue to consume my current 5 flavours of Ensure, I guarantee that I will die of terminal boredom. Why are there not 57 varieties of Ensure? Would be possible to survive on 57 flavours of Ensure for an additional 12 years?

However, such projections as to his future gastronomy, fail to take into account risk; risks of failure, unexpected hurdles that can’t be overcome, which wouldn’t be a very thorough job.

Keeping the food seasonal might help with both establishing realistic goals, as well as minimizing costs, as strawberries in February, even in California, are not to be encouraged. My experiments with spinach and brownies have been a culinary coup, but when eccoli invades the crop, the campaign disappeared down the drain very swiftly. There again, the chance of me getting him to eat a vegetable, let alone something green, is probably still several life times away. I wonder how many leap years there are in the next 12 years? Perhaps I should count in light years?

Roll up, roll up, get your spit bowls here!

Handy hint [possibly] no.3

This is more of a mini book review. Many parents have problems with food and their children. This is by no means an exclusively ‘autistic’ matter. Other parents have difficulties with Pica. [translation = eating or mouthing non food items] If your child falls into the former category then this book may prove to be helpful, I hope. It’s called “Just take a bite,” by Lori Ernsperger, Ph.D and Tania Stegen-Hanson, OTR/L. The forward is by Temple Grandin! which is the seal of authenticity for me.

I may have read every book written on the subject, but has proved to be the most effective for my child.

















It explains all the pertinent factors in language that is easy to understand with lots of examples and hints. It provides a planned approach for the parent to implement which removes the pressure so that the whole exercise becomes stress free. but A change in approach for the parent, based upon a greater understanding of the interplay of numerous different factors, means that calm may be restored to your household, I hope.

It may not be a quick fix, but under the present circumstances, a very slow fix is probably about as good as it's going to get around here.

A Grain of Rice

Phobias

They’re great aren’t they and there are so many to choose from. These days, the media remind us of a whole slew of new ones that none of us knew existed. Things like Social Phobia or Social Anxiety Disorder. It’s not that I’m belittling them, I just find it fascinating that more of them keep appearing. The best thing about such disorders is that there are magic pills to make them go away, what better medicine could there be. It’s fortuitous timing, discover a disorder and it’s cure simultaneously, how lucky is that? Each time a new phobia is announced I just want to shout ‘hooray’ I don’t have that one, I must be sane after all, which is always very gratifying. Personally I think the best test of good health is to count the things that you don’t have rather, that fret over the ones you do, that way, even if you have a whole laundry list of ailments, you still know that there are millions of other’s that you’ve avoided.
Recently I came across another one that I was also ignorant about when I was reading a book. , called "neophobia." Have you heard of that one? No, neither had I. It was only because I was reading that particular book that I knew what it meant, but without any other clues, I would have remained stumped. There’s no clue to give you a hint as to what it might be, especially if you’re not familiar with ‘neo’s and quite frankly, I’m not, familiar with ‘neo’s that is to say. O.k. I’ll put you out of your misery, it means fear of food, or near enough for current purposes. Now I can tell that you’re bright and that you’re way ahead of me, but no, it has nothing to do with anorexia, bulimia or obesity, not that kind of an eating disorder. No, this is something really quite straight forward, it’s the fear of eating, or perhaps ‘fear of putting something in your mouth,’ might be a little more accurate. I know, you’re ahead of me again as Darwin’s been around a long time, but even without him, we know that if you happen to be afraid of food, you’re destined for a pretty short life span. There again, if that really is the case, then we don’t have to worry about that particular phobia, because anyone whose got it will be dead pretty soon. I’m inclined to agree with you on that one. Afterall, this isn’t one of those phobias you fix with a pill. Even if there was a pill, how is this kind of phobic going to swallow it?

However, here’s the thing, I have one of those neophobes, the genuine article I might add, living with me, in my household and what’s even more far fetched, is that he is actually alive and he’s all mine. I can tell that you don’t believe me now and it’s not because I’m not willing to share. Either I’m harbouring the body of what used to be a neophobe in my freezer or I’m just plain lying. But I’m not, honest.
He’s been on the planet for coming up to 6 years now, my own little neophobe. He used to eat only 3 things but now he’s up to 6, hovering on 7, just over one food per year of his little life. Isn’t that a triumph! Before you know it he’ll be into double digits. We’re aiming for 21, because then he’ll lose his ‘neophobe’ status and merely be a picky eater. Hooray! When my son becomes a picky eater we will celebrate, throw a party and serve all of his 21 foods at one sitting. I hope I don’t have to wait until his 21st birthday?