La Dolce Vita is Italian for 'The Good Life'. This is what I strive for every day. I strive for happiness, balance, fun and love. Here you will read about my insights and struggles and how I try to deal with life's challenges in a way that improves my life, the life of my friends and family and of my children.
You think your child is fussy?
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I am not allowed to cook with herbs. Actually, let me rephrase that. I can cook with herbs but if my children spot them in their food they won’t eat. So I don’t cook with herbs and dinner is eaten.
How do children become so averse to green stuff?
BC (Before Children) there was always basil in my spaghetti sauce and on my pizza, oregano in my bruschetta, spring onions in my potato salad, parsley in my meatballs and rosemary in my chicken. But no more. Despite the deliciousness of these flavours, if my children see even a speck of green on their foods they declare their meals ‘yucky’ and leave the table. Or I spend countless hours picking the offensive green bits off their food in an effort to get them to eat.
I have been able to develop some sneaky methods to get some of these amazing flavours in. I can’t use dried herbs but I can use big bunches of fresh herbs. If you cook the foods with bunches of herbs instead of pieces you can remove them more easily before serving dinner. And you still get the flavor. But this doesn’t work with pizza or meatballs. And it’s hard to find fresh herbs, and expensive.
Isn’t this insane? And exhausting?
Sometimes I just want to yell at them, “Just eat!” Sometimes I blame myself. If there is less snacking they’ll be starving at dinner time and eat whatever I put in front of them.
And this is herb-specific. Two out of three of my children will join me in a bowl of cabbage or baked zucchini. The other is my beige-boy. If it’s beige he’ll eat it. If it’s any other colour I may as well put a place of dog poo in front of him – he’ll turn his nose up and refuse to eat.
Should I be firmer? I remember many long nights when I was little when I’d refused to eat dinner and then been made to sit at the table for hours. I’m not sure who was more exhausted and defeated at the end – me or my mum. We’d usually negotiate two mouthfuls (of lentils or liver and onions or any of the other disgusting foods that were dished up to me as an eight-year-old which I found offensive).
I bought the wrong chocolate biscuits once. After watching my children turn their noses up instead of being happy (more for me!) I yelled, “Some children have never even had a chocolate biscuit, ever. They have one bowl of rice a day.”
I can’t keep up with their preference for sandwich fillings either. Philip likes ham, cheese and tomato with butter, Giovanni ham only with no butter and Caterina ham and cheese with no butter. When the sandwiches go in the sandwich press I have to draw a diagram for myself to remind myself which sandwich goes to which child.
Spoiled!
Neapolitan ice-cream was invented by a frustrated mother. She knew Philip would like vanilla only, Giovanni would like chocolate only and Caterina would choose vanilla and pink (no brown mummy).
I wish I could just throw down a plate full of one food and tell them to take it or leave it but I’m a picky eater. I’d feel like a hypocrite. I get to eat how I want but they don’t get to? In this age of obesity I want my children to eat carefully and with consideration. Isn’t part of this eating only when hungry and eating foods they like – don’t waste calories eating out of boredom or on foods you don’t like?
And one more point to add to my rant. Philip eats spaghetti bolognese but only at my sister’s house. At home he wants sauce only. Giovanni eats museli bars but only at my sister’s house and bananas but only at pre-school. And my nephew eats ham pizza but only at my house but demand cheese only at home.
My daughter eats anything and everything but it had better be in the right plate. Some days she wants her Cinderella plate and some days she wants her Dora plate and apparently I have to read her mind to know which one. And if the food has touched the wrong plate it needs to be made again. It’s ‘yucky’ and her screams of horror just aren’t worth it. It’s easier to make it again (or pretend to).
Is your child fussy? How do you handle it?
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