And now it's getting to our kids. Discussing the anxiety children are experiencing about "good" and "bad" foods these days, egged (are those "good" or "bad" these days?) on by their hypervigilant and health-obsessed parents, specialists quoted in a NYTimes article have said the children's (and their parents') obsession is bordering on eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia. Reminds me of somewhere that I read that veganism is just the 21st century's eating disorder, a way for women and men to rigidly restrict and control their eating while feeling righteous in a completely socially acceptable way (not sure I buy that, but I have been witness to some extremism)--just think of those Skinny Bitch books.
Bud weighs himself everytime he is in the bathroom upstairs. Not because I do--he's never watched me weigh--but because he loves the numbers on my digital scale. He gets such a thrill from operating the scale correctly (you have to turn it on, wait for it to reset, and then stand on it). And then these great numbers appear. Sometimes he reads them forward, sometimes backwards, always thrilled that he's growing, even if he's down a half pound or so (it's all about when he ate and pooped). Sis loves the scale too and has joined Bud in his weigh-in obsession (though sometimes they call it "how tall I am"--they really have no clue). I thought it was cute too until they asked me to try. What would they say about my numbers? Would they repeat them to anyone? Suddenly, I was extremely self-conscious about getting on the scale. And then I was concerned about being self-conscious in front of them. And so I gamely stepped on the scale and they were just excited to see numbers, didn't even see them all, but were just glad that I too was growing (actually, I'm not, was down another pound this week). Whew, passed that test. Will I have to take it again?
Anyway, though I am on a diet (I know, I know, it's a lifestyle), I don't like to discuss it around my kids. And I try not to dwell on vegetarianism either. My word, they barely grasp that meat used to be animals. Just as we don't have power struggles about what they do and do not eat, I try not to laden food with emotional and psychological baggage. As the author of Momma Zen noted, a pea is just a pea. Kids are great at reminding us that food is just food. That we eat for nourishment, should only eat what we enjoy, and stop when we are done. Not because we're tired or bored or sad or anxious. So, here, I'm trying not to get in the way of that; we just try to eat. And keep all that anxiety at bay. It's hard though because inevitably when women eat--and, yes, it's always women--me, my friends, whomever, we all comment on what we're eating, our bodies, that it's "bad" or "good" (and we're not talking quality here), whatever. On Thursday, our beloved babysitter bemoaned the cupcake we had gotten her for her birthday as ruining her diet, right before she ate it all. I'm tempted to hang a sign up that reads, similar to Bloodroot's, "Out of respect for our children, please do not talk about diets or negative body images here." It would be a good reminder to me to leave the baggage out of the kitchen, just like there are no toys at the table.
The advice in the article said that young children should know two things about food: to eat different colors and never to supersize anything but water. We're working on the first one and, remembering the article at lunch today, I made a big deal out of Sis's yellow corn and orange sweet potatoes and Bud's red apple and yellow corn. They then remembered we had green broccoli in the fridge and got excited about making that later.
In her response to the article on food crazies, Motherlode's Belkin wrote about moderation. She had noticed that
Every day, when I read through the comments here on Motherlode, I am struck
by how absolutely positive so many commenters are that they are right. They are
even more certain that someone else is wrong. “I would never” — give my baby
formula, give my child an Oreo or a Diet Coke, let my child watch THAT program,
allow my child to act that way.
Their intentions are pure, of course. They are ferociously determined to do
everything that is good and right for someone they fiercely love. To protect
them. To keep them safe. To make them strong.
She goes on (and I quote at length again)
If we can control what they eat, and who they are friends with, and what
they watch and hear and learn, then maybe we can push back, just a little, the
fact that the world we are sending them into is unpredictable and chaotic.
The alternative to hyper-vigilance is not neglect. It is flexibility.
Because the best way to prepare children for a messy world, is to jump right
into it now and then, and the only way to handle ambiguity, is to embrace it. It
is up to us to show our children that life is full of maybe and sometimes and
uncertainty and once-in-a-while. If you are using words like “always” or “never”
that’s a time to stop and make sure you haven’t taken things too far.
Along with this call for moderation, I would add one about suspending or witholding judgment. I think they go hand in hand. As parents, we become so wrapped up in "getting it right"--that hyper-vigilance that is not flexible--that we are often defensive of all of our choices, even small ones, out of fear and insecurity. And our reflex is then to judge those who differ from us. Hence, I believe, all the immoderate comments that Belkin often receives, and which the article on the food obsession had in spades. I swear, none of those commenters have weight problems. And their opinions about and attitudes towards those who do are shameful. Had they similar prejudices against GLBTS or ethnic or religious minorities, they would be loudly castigated. But it's okay to pick on fat people, to patronize, to lecture, because, you know, there is an "obesity epidemic." In truth, people fear fat more than death itself, I think, and so must hate most what they fear most. No wonder overweight people are depressed and looking for twinkies. We carry the proverbial weight of the anxieties of our nation on our souls.
Who would want to share all this with our children? A pea should just a pea.
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