Category Archives: motherhood

Sammi’s Restaurant

When Sammi was a feisty three year old and we were still unclear about why she ate so slowly and with such unusual habits, I tried to entice her to eat heartier foods by inviting her to cook alongside me. It was a method recommended anywhere I sought help with “picky eating,” even though she wasn’t picky in the way that most people described their picky-eating children. She tried a great many things — always willing, often surprisingly eager — but seldom more than a few bites. Cooking together — particularly baking together — was my attempt at imbuing food with a kind of positive energy. It was Jewish-mama-mojo, those afternoons when I plopped her on a stool next to me and held her little hand as it dropped flour in a bowl, stirred eggs, drizzled oil. Continue Reading…

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Mother Blessing

tostados

More than ten years ago, I attended a mother-blessing, also known sometimes as a blessingway, for one of my closest friends. Andrea was due shortly thereafter with her second child, a daughter. Surrounded by a small group of powerful, loving women, Andrea and her still-gestating daughter were touched by healing hands and given tokens of energy and affection in the form of beads to make a bracelet Andrea could use as a focus in labor.

Mid-way through the evening, we gathered in the kitchen of the host, Andrea’s friend, for food and drink. She bustled around in front of the stove and returned with a steaming ceramic bowl of refried black beans, smelling strongly of garlic, and a platter of corn tostados. We all slathered the crunchy, oversized tortilla chips with the savory beans, and I knew that, perhaps in small part due to the circumstances heavy with love and support, I’d fallen in love with a food. Continue Reading…

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Endless Meals

Sit down and finish your dinner.

Are you done or are you just distracted?

All the rest of us are done. Could you please eat your dinner?

Just FINISH. If you want that food, then EAT IT.

For CRYING OUT LOUD, Sammi, FINISH YOUR DINNER!

I can’t sit here with you anymore. Eat what you want and then bring your dish in.

My husband and I had decided early in our children’s lives that we would eat together as a family whenever possible. We had both grown up that way, largely, and especially given the research that showed how valuable a family meal is to raising connected families, we’ve maintained this policy even as our children have gotten older and busier. Seated at the end of the dining room table closest to the kitchen, the four of us have always used the time together in the traditional manner — catching up on our days, joking around, planning family events together.

But when we were done, there was Sammi. Still sitting there. Still eating.

Unlike other families I knew who struggled with a picky child at mealtime, Sammi’s issues were seldom that she was refusing to eat what was on the plate in front of her. In fact, if we suggested that she might be finished, she would often tell us that she was still eating. Then she would take a bite, chew it slowly, and begin a conversation. Five or six minutes later, we’d realize that she was not using the time when someone else was talking to take another bite — instead, she was watching, nodding, interacting, but not eating any more.

Pick up your fork and put some food on it, we’d say, rolling our eyes. You know how to eat. Just eat your dinner!

Thirty minutes would pass, and the other three people at the table would be long done with their meals. We’d linger, chatting. Maybe one of us would get up to switch a load of laundry, rifle through the mail, answer the phone. Those left at the table with Sammi would keep chatting, fussing with our dishes, maybe having another helping of something, just to pass the time.

An hour after sitting down, Sammi would still be spearing pieces of food, now long-cold. By now, her sister Ronni would be off and playing, or reading a book in a chair nearby. Either David or I would have lost the ability to sit at that table a moment more, and would be in the kitchen doing dishes or hanging out with Ronni. The parent left at the table might start reading to Sammi or to him or herself in an effort to stave off the frustration and boredom of still being at the dinner table.

After ninety minutes, it would be nearly bedtime. If Sammi was still sitting at the table with her food, we often began a countdown to the end of the meal.

In ten minutes you need to get ready for bed. Eat whatever you can finish by then.

Bedtime is coming in five minutes. Finish.

It’s almost time to go upstairs!

Dinner time edged right up to bedtime for years and years. There were never, ever any family board game nights. We seldom had dinners in front of a movie, lest the adults lose our focus or vigilance over the state of Sammi’s plate. A summer walk at sunset? Never — we were still at the dinner table.

It helped to know that Sammi’s slow eating was likely a symptom of eosinophilic esophagitis, or reflux, or both. It helped, but not enough. I kept feeling that nagging, nagging sensation in my own belly — something else was wrong. This was nearly her only symptom. Why did the problem of slowness persist even with drinking? She drank like a toddler even at age 8, puffing her cheeks out to fill them with water and letting it down a tiny bit at a time. It seemed wrong. It seemed strange. I sat there, night after night, staring at Sammi eating in slow motion, musing and, despite myself, fuming.

We watched her, the sound of doctors labeling her “failure to thrive” whispering through our heads as she delicately balanced four peas on her spoon. Feed her more calories, they told us. She needs more nutrition, they insisted.

Let THEM try, I thought, over and over, waiting for the end of another interminable meal.

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Kindergarten Numbers

kindergartenOn the first day of kindergarten, Sammi was still in the midst of the six-food-elimination-diet. There was no peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in her lunch — no goldfish crackers, no chocolate chip cookies. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but my best guess is that it was a thermos of rice and beans, some fruit, maybe some vegan chocolate chips.

She was excited for school. We were nervous — not because of separation anxiety, fear of a too-challenging academic environment, or worry that she wouldn’t make friends. She was happy to go, smart and curious, and looking forward to being in the same class with her best friend. We were nervous because she’d be surrounded by food she couldn’t have and people who might not understand why.

Before school started, we met with the principal, the district health clerk, and her kindergarten teacher to set up a 504 plan. Unlike an IEP (an Individualized Education Plan), which creates a set of legally enforceable accommodations for students with one of 13 specific types of learning disability, a 504 plan is an option for students whose special needs fall outside those concerns and is designed mostly for use in a general education environment. It’s sometimes called a “health plan,” as it is commonly used for students with allergies, asthma, diabetes, etc. — things that don’t necessarily create a learning issue, but need to be managed during the school day. A great comparison of IEP vs 504 is available here.

Sammi’s 504 plan was fairly simple. It required that:

  1. No one at school was permitted to give her any food that I hadn’t sent from home. A lidded, clearly labeled box in her classroom held a variety of snacks I replenished as needed.
  2. All wheat-based dough (Playdoh) was removed from her classroom and, as necessary, from the art room.
  3. Reasonable notice for special treats provided by the school would be made to us so that we could provide an alternative for Sammi.

Her teacher was warm and lovely and went out of her way to make the process easy for us. She sent a snack-day signup letter home to all the parents in the room letting them know that there was a student in the room with special food allergies — an easier way to explain it than to describe eosinophilic esophagitis — and letting them know that they were not required to send special snacks, but that unpeeled oranges and bananas would allow that student to take part.

Some parents sent unpeeled oranges and bananas on their child’s snack days. Some didn’t. Sammi was fine with that.

Only twice that year did we run into trouble with noncompliance with that 504 plan. One day, Sammi came out the door of the school with her head low and her lip trembling. “Everyone got POPSICLES,” she said, “because we had a great first month of school.”

“Who gave them out?” I asked, hoping it was a surprise from a parent who didn’t know.

She named the principal, and said that he had tried to give her a popsicle twice, even after she said she couldn’t have it. “He said I COULD have it, that everyone could have it! But I said you didn’t send it, and he just gave my popsicle to someone else.”

Angry and said, I turned and saw the principal a hundred yards away, standing by a school exit. Asking Sammi’s sister to keep her company, I approached him and asked why he hadn’t let me know that he’d be giving popsicles to everyone. He said he didn’t tell anyone, that it was a surprise. I reminded him that he’d tried to give one to Sammi despite her 504 plan, and he said, “oh — but she didn’t eat it, right?”

I took Sammi home and made her homemade banana-peach popsicles. There was no point in arguing.

The next time it happened was after Sammi had passed through the most restrictive phase of the diet and had been given permission to eat eggs. The school social worker had high-fived her in the hall, and she’d been excited to bring a hard boiled egg in her lunch all week. We were all feeling free and grateful with just that one food returned to her, but truly, her diet was still quite limited. No dairy, wheat, soy, or nuts were allowed. When her gym teacher rewarded the class with cookies, she asked if they had things she wasn’t allowed.

“Go on, take it,” he told her, according to Sammi and her friends.

“No, I can’t,” she responded.

“Who wants Sammi’s cookie?” he offered loudly to the rest of the class.

That time, Sammi came home crying. On further investigation, I learned that the gym teacher hadn’t bothered to read the 504 plan provided to him because it was left on top of his mailbox and not inside it.

In the years since Sammi was in kindergarten, I’ve come to ache for the parents of allergic children who have to place so much faith in others to keep them safe. Had Sammi eaten a “forbidden” food, she would not have died. She would have simply had to restart that phase of the diet — each phase six weeks long. It was hardly the end of the world, but if she’d been dangerously allergic, it could have been.

A five year old should not have to be responsible for her own life.

A parent shouldn’t have to arm a five year old with that level of self-preservation skill.

For these two affronts, I’ve never quite forgiven the educators who ignored Sammi’s needs. Her kindergarten year was compromised enough.

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Lentils I Have Known and Loved

lentilsThere has so far been no restrictive diet in our strange, medically-fraught life that did not allow for the consumption of lentils.

Green lentils. Brown lentils. Red lentils. We have eaten our weight in lentils over the course of the last nine years. Lentils in stews, lentils in soups. The sound of dried lentils hitting the bottom of a pot, the bottom of a glass measuring cup, the floor: this is the soundtrack that precipitates the lowering of my shoulders from my ears, the loosening of my jaw from a clench, the finish line of a racing mind. We can always eat lentils. I can always make lentils.

Dairy free, egg free, soy free, nut free, wheat free, vegetarian, reflux-safe, fat free — all these diets accommodate lentils.

There’s nothing more profound in my life than these tiny, life-giving legumes. That sounds silly, but it is true. When all meals sounded strange, lentils were a constant. This compilation of recipes is a love letter to lentils.

HONEY BAKED LENTILS

I found some variation of this recipe on the web many years ago. It is a dump-it-in-the-bowl-and-cook-it easy dinner, provided you can be home for 90 minutes while it cooked. I can hastily prepare the ingredients and throw it all in the oven. Half an hour before it’s done baking, I can make a pot of rice, and dinner is done. In a time when I often had to make the ingredients in order to assemble the recipe for dinner itself, this was a blessing indeed. *Dairy-free *Egg-free *Nut-free *Wheat-free (if you use tamari or coconut aminos not soy sauce) *Soy-free (if you use coconut aminos) *Reflux-safe *Fat-free (if you skip the olive oil)

Ingredients:

1 cup red lentils
2 cups water
2 tbsp honey
2 tbsp soysauce or tamari or, on a six-food-elimination-diet, coconut aminos
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp ginger
1 clove garlic
1 small onion
salt & pepper to taste
Optional: add chopped carrots, sweet potato, or squash and just a little more water.

Preparation:
Bake in a covered dish at 350 until tender (about an hour and a half). OR…dump it all in a crockpot on low for 3-5 hours.

TAMARIND LENTILS & CHICKPEAS

I found the basic version of this recipe in Veganomicon, the amazing cookbook by Isa Chandra Moscowitz and Terry Hope Romero. I adapted it so that it would accommodate both a reflux-safe diet (no tomatoes, which is why I substituted pureed pumpkin) and a day when we were low on lentils (the horror!), so I added chickpeas. In an often otherwise-low-fat, low-protein diet, this recipe has lots of both. Unlike the recipe above, this is what my mother often calls a “potchke” recipe — lots of fussing, many pots, kind of time-consuming. It is outrageously delicious. Serve it over basmati rice.
*Dairy-free *Egg-free *Nut-free *Wheat-free (check your garam masala to be sure) *Soy-free *Reflux-safe

Ingredients:
3 tbsp coconut oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp ginger
1 large onion, diced
1 tsp garam masala
1/2 tsp cumin
Pinch of cayenne
1/2 cup dried lentils
1/2 cup canned chickpeas
2 cups veg broth
2 tsp tamarind paste (available in most health food or Indian food stores)
1 tbsp maple syrup
2 tbsp pureed pumpkin (from a can is fine…possibly pureed sweet potato would work too)
1/2 tsp salt

Preparation:
Melt coconut oil in heavy-bottomed pot with a lid. Add garlic and ginger and let sizzle for 30 seconds. Add the onion and fry until translucent and soft. Stir in garam masala, cumin, and cayenne, and stir for another 30 seconds until the spices smell fragrant. Add lentils, chickpeas, and veg broth, increase heat to high, and bring the mixture to a boil. Stir and lower heat to medium-low. Partially cover and simmer for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the lentils have absorbed all the liquid and are very tender. This will be very thick.

In a small cup or bowl, combine tamarind, maple syrup, tomato paste/pumpkin, and salt. Scrape all of this mixture into the lentils and stir completely to dissolve the flavorings. Simmer for another 4-6 minutes and serve immediately.

GREEK LENTIL STEW

This is a staple dish of my whole community now, after my friend Clare began making it for every potluck. It’s cheap, it’s tasty, it’s open to endless variations, and almost anyone can make it. The smell of the bay leaf is a signal to my younger daughter that it’s cooking and also that she can count on several days of it in their lunches. A big batch of basmati rice rounds this out. This recipe initially came from Laurel’s Kitchen, an iconic cookbook.
*Dairy-free *Egg-free *Nut-free *Wheat-free (check your garam masala to be sure) *Soy-free *Reflux-safe (if you omit the tomatoes *Fat-free (if you omit the olive oil)

Ingredients
2 cups dry green/tan lentils
8 cups water
1/2 onion, chopped
1 small carrot, chopped (sometimes I add more because I love them)
1 celery stalk, chopped
1 small potato, chopped
2 tbsp olive oil
2 bay leaves
1 to 2 tsp salt
1 can or about 2 cups chopped tomatoes (omit for a reflux-safe diet)

Preparation:
Put everything except the tomatoes in the pot and cook until the lentils are soft, about an hour. Add the tomatoes for about 3 minutes. Mix, cook for a few minutes more, eat over basmati rice.

Finally, a lentil story:

Once, when I was sick with the flu and strep throat at the same time, a friend showed up at my door, unbidden, with a steaming glass dish of lentil stew. Gratitude is not a powerful enough word for what I felt as I spooned this concoction into my mouth from under a mountain of blankets on my couch. It was sweet but not cloying, savory and soft and tart all at once. I’ve come to associate the taste of it with the feeling of being cared-for without asking. Few people mother the mothers when their own mothers are far away. This dish made me remember the soup I ate as a sick child — not in flavor, but in sentiment and healing properties.

It was the Stewed Lentils & Tomatoes recipe from Smitten Kitchen, who in turn adapted it from The Barefoot Contessa at Home. I have never made it as well as my friend did — but it’s still fantastic. *Dairy-free *Egg-free *Nut-free *Wheat-free *Soy-free *Fat-free (if you omit the olive oil)

Lentils are little tiny round magic-beans to me. Thank you, lentils!

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