Mark's having a blast at camp this week. His group is traveling to all sorts of fun places, and today's big adventure was to an Angels game.
I sent him off with 20 bucks and a firm reminder that he was to eat a proper lunch. I told him I have eyes watching his every move (I lied) and I would know if he feasted on only ice cream, cotton candy and diet soda.
But when he called at lunch, he just wanted the carb counts for a hot dog and diet soda. I kept waiting for a second call about Cracker Jack or ice cream, but it never came.
"How was the game?" I asked when I picked him up.
"Good!" he answered. He handed me his remaining five dollars and said, "My friend didn't have any money, so I bought him some Cracker Jacks."
He bit his lip and looked at me expectantly. I dunno what he thought I was gonna do (probably yell at him for spending my money), so I confused him by smiling.
"That was very nice," I said. "I bet he was really happy."
Mark immediately perked up and said, "He was happy. Very happy!" He grinned.
And then the floodgates opened. "I also bought him some ice cream," Mark confessed. "And I bought this other girl some cotton candy."
"You did?" Now I was the confused one. "Did you have enough money for all that?"
"Yup!" he answered.
I shrugged. "Well, then you must've been very popular today."
"I was!" he said. He smiled again, and felt very proud of himself.
"Well, it was really nice of you to be so generous," I said. I kept my tone and words upbeat and happy. But truth be told, I was a little scared--images of Mark in college popped in to my head. I could see him buying pizza for everybody, and a little later on, buying rounds of drinks for all his friends. I realized for the first time that textbooks and class fees may not be the most expensive part of Mark's college experience. Apparently, I should be saving enough to feed not only Mark, but all his friends as well.
But if that's the cost of raising a generous, friendly kid...I think it's a bargain.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Chef is in
I'm not much of a cook. I know it, I own it, I shrug it off.
That fact never bothered me in my carefree pre-kid days, when sometimes dinner consisted of a tuna sandwich or even the occasional Pop-Tart (I love Pop-Tarts). But when I became a mother, I felt like I had to step up the meal preparations in order to raise a healthy child who appreciated healthy food (but he likes Pop-Tarts, too). My friend Jill, and the fact my son has diabetes, really drove home the importance of good, well-balanced meals (which apparently do NOT contain Pop-Tarts).
And so now I cook. Kinda. Well, quasi-cook. I can deliver a mean bowl of pasta (with red sauce--counts as a veggie, no?). I also sneak a couple handfuls of veggies in there to ratchet up the healthiness. I can barbecue pretty well, and again, a couple handfuls of frozen veggies or an ear of summer corn go a long way as side dishes to my sometimes-charred proteins.
But all in all, I thought I was doing an okay job of serving up some good, healthy family dinners. And even if the food wasn't always five-star, I reasoned that equally important was the opportunity to share a meal and share our days together as a family, sitting together at a table, and not in front of the T.V.
Until...
Until my mom started coming up to watch my son. It started a couple summers ago. She came to watch him during the gaps between summer camp ending and school starting. And she put my whole notion of cooking to shame, as she served up some amazing meals. She swore most of the ingredients came from my pantry, fridge, and freezer, but since she never once served us Pop-Tarts, I had my doubts.
It was during this time that Mark learned meals do not consist solely of one entree--they may also include other food on the plate (I explained these were called side dishes, and they complimented the entree). My mom actually served an entree with two, sometimes three side dishes (she explained to Mark that no, it doesn't matter what I say, bread is not a side dish). For a while, I felt a little guilty that the only home-cooked meals my son would ever remember would be my mom's.
But now my mom's returned. She's been coming up to watch my nephew, and her fan base has grown. She used to cook for Mark and I, but now my brother and nephew have joined in. And my cousin Kathleen, who regrets her own childhood meal memories, has become my mom's biggest fan. She and her boyfriend also make regular appearances whenever my mom comes up.
It's kinda sad how much we all appreciate my mom's good cooking. Just the mention that she's coming up to my house gets all of us drooling. My cousin's even started putting in requests, which my mom happily fulfills.
All of which makes me feel a little less pathetic. Because at the end of it all, I may be washing more dishes than I serve, but who cares? Turns out, I'm not the only fan of mom's cooking--I've got a lot of company. Just peer inside the window any time my mom is there, and you'll see I'm not alone. :-)
That fact never bothered me in my carefree pre-kid days, when sometimes dinner consisted of a tuna sandwich or even the occasional Pop-Tart (I love Pop-Tarts). But when I became a mother, I felt like I had to step up the meal preparations in order to raise a healthy child who appreciated healthy food (but he likes Pop-Tarts, too). My friend Jill, and the fact my son has diabetes, really drove home the importance of good, well-balanced meals (which apparently do NOT contain Pop-Tarts).
And so now I cook. Kinda. Well, quasi-cook. I can deliver a mean bowl of pasta (with red sauce--counts as a veggie, no?). I also sneak a couple handfuls of veggies in there to ratchet up the healthiness. I can barbecue pretty well, and again, a couple handfuls of frozen veggies or an ear of summer corn go a long way as side dishes to my sometimes-charred proteins.
But all in all, I thought I was doing an okay job of serving up some good, healthy family dinners. And even if the food wasn't always five-star, I reasoned that equally important was the opportunity to share a meal and share our days together as a family, sitting together at a table, and not in front of the T.V.
Until...
Until my mom started coming up to watch my son. It started a couple summers ago. She came to watch him during the gaps between summer camp ending and school starting. And she put my whole notion of cooking to shame, as she served up some amazing meals. She swore most of the ingredients came from my pantry, fridge, and freezer, but since she never once served us Pop-Tarts, I had my doubts.
It was during this time that Mark learned meals do not consist solely of one entree--they may also include other food on the plate (I explained these were called side dishes, and they complimented the entree). My mom actually served an entree with two, sometimes three side dishes (she explained to Mark that no, it doesn't matter what I say, bread is not a side dish). For a while, I felt a little guilty that the only home-cooked meals my son would ever remember would be my mom's.
But now my mom's returned. She's been coming up to watch my nephew, and her fan base has grown. She used to cook for Mark and I, but now my brother and nephew have joined in. And my cousin Kathleen, who regrets her own childhood meal memories, has become my mom's biggest fan. She and her boyfriend also make regular appearances whenever my mom comes up.
It's kinda sad how much we all appreciate my mom's good cooking. Just the mention that she's coming up to my house gets all of us drooling. My cousin's even started putting in requests, which my mom happily fulfills.
All of which makes me feel a little less pathetic. Because at the end of it all, I may be washing more dishes than I serve, but who cares? Turns out, I'm not the only fan of mom's cooking--I've got a lot of company. Just peer inside the window any time my mom is there, and you'll see I'm not alone. :-)
Friday, October 17, 2008
Sometimes, it's just a numbers game
File under: Dumb little things that become serious big things for kids with diabetes...
Mark's substitute nurse called while I was waiting for my oil change. Which was odd, because it was half an hour past lunchtime, when I usually get calls.
She said she bolused Mark at lunchtime, but he just came in to say he didn't eat. Apparently, his Powerade juice pouch popped and ruined his lunch, so he didn't eat (instead, he played on the playground). He was bolused for those carbs--55 of 'em--but hadn't eaten any.
I did the math in my head, but the nurse beat me to it.
"He got the insulin 25 minutes ago--so what should I do?" she asked.
Fast-acting insulin works in 15 minutes--which meant his blood sugar was already dropping. If we didn't replace those carbs immediately, we could have a bad scene on our hands.
I thought quickly. "He's got raisins in his backpack for snack," I said. "That's 33 carbs. And he has extra snacks there with his diabetes supplies--give him a South Beach bar. That should almost cover it--and make sure he eats there in the office with you!" The nurse agreed, and went off in search of the food.
She called back 10 minutes later to report almost all the carbs had been replaced. Mark had a wonderful lunch of peanut butter crackers (16 carbs), a South Beach bar (15 carbs), a juice box (15 carbs) and two glucose tabs (8 carbs).
Healthy and nutritious lunch...eh, not so much. But sometimes, when the insulin is coursing through Mark and the clock is ticking, healthy doesn't matter as much as cramming for carbs and hitting that magic number.
And have I mentioned lately THANK GOD for school nurses???
Mark's substitute nurse called while I was waiting for my oil change. Which was odd, because it was half an hour past lunchtime, when I usually get calls.
She said she bolused Mark at lunchtime, but he just came in to say he didn't eat. Apparently, his Powerade juice pouch popped and ruined his lunch, so he didn't eat (instead, he played on the playground). He was bolused for those carbs--55 of 'em--but hadn't eaten any.
I did the math in my head, but the nurse beat me to it.
"He got the insulin 25 minutes ago--so what should I do?" she asked.
Fast-acting insulin works in 15 minutes--which meant his blood sugar was already dropping. If we didn't replace those carbs immediately, we could have a bad scene on our hands.
I thought quickly. "He's got raisins in his backpack for snack," I said. "That's 33 carbs. And he has extra snacks there with his diabetes supplies--give him a South Beach bar. That should almost cover it--and make sure he eats there in the office with you!" The nurse agreed, and went off in search of the food.
She called back 10 minutes later to report almost all the carbs had been replaced. Mark had a wonderful lunch of peanut butter crackers (16 carbs), a South Beach bar (15 carbs), a juice box (15 carbs) and two glucose tabs (8 carbs).
Healthy and nutritious lunch...eh, not so much. But sometimes, when the insulin is coursing through Mark and the clock is ticking, healthy doesn't matter as much as cramming for carbs and hitting that magic number.
And have I mentioned lately THANK GOD for school nurses???
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
May the snacks be with you
Yesterday, I spent my lunch hour--yes, the whole hour--shopping for afterschool snacks. This seems like a pretty easy task, until you factor in Mark's diabetes.
Then, choosing snacks becomes a complicated math problem. I add up the various factors to get my final result (healthy + low-carb + no refrigeration - refined flour + will he eat it = good snack). Fresh fruit's out of the question because Mark tosses his backpack around like a football, and by snack time, he's left with bruised, brown fruit he refuses to eat. Nuts are a really good snack--low-carb, full of fiber, healthy, but there's a kid in afterschool care with a peanut allergy, so I've eliminated things Mark loves--peanut butter crackers, granola bars, trail mix--that contain peanuts. That put a big dent in my snack répertoire.
So now browsing the snack aisle takes a good hour. I pick boxes carefully, examining the contents. Oooh, goldfish crackers--until I remember how high they send Mark. Granola bars and bites, an old standby--until I read the label, which says they may contain peanuts. Raisins--maybe. A fruit, and he might eat them. Excitedly, I put two boxes in my cart, and then realize I'm getting ahead of myself. He's 8--I may convince him to eat one package of raisins, but two is pushing it.
Cookies and chips--no. I don't mind the occasional treat, but I'm not sending them as a snack everyday. Likewise (fake) yogurt-covered anything, or rolled/gummy fruit snacks masquerading as dried fruit, but are really just gelatinous-shaped sugar bombs. Pretzels are an excellent choice--except that Mark hates them. South Beach bars and Scooby Snacks (little dog-bone shaped graham crackers) were good, but he ate so many, he burnt out on them. Yesterday I sent graham crackers, which came back uneaten, in a thousand crumbled pieces.
I'm not complaining...things were a lot harder when Mark was on shots, and could only eat snacks under 15 grams of carbs. And he had to eat, whether he was hungry or not, or else the long-acting insulin would send him low. And he couldn't eat more, or he'd need a shot, which the afterschool counselors didn't feel comfortable giving him. Now, with the pump, it doesn't matter if he eats 15 carbs or 35 carbs, it's all one bolus. And he can work the pump himself (with adult supervision), which makes the adults less nervous than the needles did.
Then, choosing snacks becomes a complicated math problem. I add up the various factors to get my final result (healthy + low-carb + no refrigeration - refined flour + will he eat it = good snack). Fresh fruit's out of the question because Mark tosses his backpack around like a football, and by snack time, he's left with bruised, brown fruit he refuses to eat. Nuts are a really good snack--low-carb, full of fiber, healthy, but there's a kid in afterschool care with a peanut allergy, so I've eliminated things Mark loves--peanut butter crackers, granola bars, trail mix--that contain peanuts. That put a big dent in my snack répertoire.
So now browsing the snack aisle takes a good hour. I pick boxes carefully, examining the contents. Oooh, goldfish crackers--until I remember how high they send Mark. Granola bars and bites, an old standby--until I read the label, which says they may contain peanuts. Raisins--maybe. A fruit, and he might eat them. Excitedly, I put two boxes in my cart, and then realize I'm getting ahead of myself. He's 8--I may convince him to eat one package of raisins, but two is pushing it.
Cookies and chips--no. I don't mind the occasional treat, but I'm not sending them as a snack everyday. Likewise (fake) yogurt-covered anything, or rolled/gummy fruit snacks masquerading as dried fruit, but are really just gelatinous-shaped sugar bombs. Pretzels are an excellent choice--except that Mark hates them. South Beach bars and Scooby Snacks (little dog-bone shaped graham crackers) were good, but he ate so many, he burnt out on them. Yesterday I sent graham crackers, which came back uneaten, in a thousand crumbled pieces.
Last week, I thought I'd found the perfect snack--Sun Chips. They're full of multi grains, somewhat healthy, and labelled as chips, so Mark thought he was getting a treat. And he was, too, until he came home three days in a row with a blood sugar of almost 300, and another at 375. (His target range is between 70-150.) That officially ended our Sun Chips experiment, at least at school.
I eventually found enough semi-healthy, moderately low carb, yummy snacks I think Mark might eat, including:- Popcorn
- Pudding cups
- Special K bars
- Raisins
- Teddy Grahams
- Granola bites (not the peanut butter ones)
- Crackers with cheese in the middle
- Chewy granola bars (not the peanut butter ones)
I'm not complaining...things were a lot harder when Mark was on shots, and could only eat snacks under 15 grams of carbs. And he had to eat, whether he was hungry or not, or else the long-acting insulin would send him low. And he couldn't eat more, or he'd need a shot, which the afterschool counselors didn't feel comfortable giving him. Now, with the pump, it doesn't matter if he eats 15 carbs or 35 carbs, it's all one bolus. And he can work the pump himself (with adult supervision), which makes the adults less nervous than the needles did.
Anyway...this is what fills my head nowadays. Snacks that won't kill my kid, or any other kids. Carb counts. Insulin to carb ratios. Basal rates that change every couple hours, and are completely useless if Mark plays too hard or gets sick. And how to figure all that out silently, in my head, so that Mark doesn't have to worry about it, and can focus on being just like all the other kids.
So keep that in mind that the next time it seems like I'm not listening to you...I'm not being rude, I'm just worrying about how high those little cheese crackers will send Mark, or if I gave him a snack with enough protein to keep him from dropping low out on the playground!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The diner is now closed
Today's breakfast request from Mark: "I'd like an omelette, please."
Me: "Really? But you hate eggs."
Mark: "I want an omelette without eggs."
Me: "But that's what an omelette is made out of--eggs!"
Mark: "Oh. I thought it was made out of all the bits in it. Do we have any bits?"
Now I'm totally confused.
Me: "What kind of bits are we talking about here?"
Mark: "Like, bacon. Do we have any bacon?"
Me: "No."
Mark: "OK, I don't want an omelette then."
And people wonder why I don't cook more often...
Me: "Really? But you hate eggs."
Mark: "I want an omelette without eggs."
Me: "But that's what an omelette is made out of--eggs!"
Mark: "Oh. I thought it was made out of all the bits in it. Do we have any bits?"
Now I'm totally confused.
Me: "What kind of bits are we talking about here?"
Mark: "Like, bacon. Do we have any bacon?"
Me: "No."
Mark: "OK, I don't want an omelette then."
And people wonder why I don't cook more often...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
UnPop-Tart
I know better, I really do. I know they aren't good for me. I know they aren't healthy in any respect, even though the packaging claims they contain seven essential vitamins and minerals and zero grams of trans fat. I know not to feed them to my kid because they shoot his blood sugar up through the stratosphere, where it lingers for the better part of the morning, making him cranky and me miserable.
But even knowing all that, I can't help myself -- I love Pop-Tarts. I even bought a toaster once just because it had a Pop-Tart setting.
I don't usually buy them (see above paragraph re: Mark's blood sugar). But Mark was gone, and I had a moment of weakness while strolling through the grocery store. OK, maybe it was more impulsive ("Mmmmm, Pop-Tarts!") than weak, but whatever, I ended up with a box of chocolate frosted Pop-Tarts.
So this morning, I unwrapped the foil packaging, placed my Pop-Tart into the toaster, and marveled at the marketing genius who put together the words "toaster" and "pastry." (I mean, really--when was the last time you said "Do I want something from the toaster, or do I want a pastry? Wait, I know--I'll have BOTH!")
It wasn't long before my breakfast was cooked, and I reached in carefully to retrieve it. And that is when my morning joy disintegrated...along with my Pop-Tart, which had somehow wedged itself between the two hot shards of metal that hold the bread slices in the toaster.
Damn...if you think a Pop-Tart is bad for your body, you oughtta see what it does to a toaster! As soon as you crack the outer shell (with say, a knife or fork you mistakenly think will pry the pastry loose), all the chocolately gooey-ness melts out, seeping into the toaster crevices, and coating the metal parts. And once that Pop-Tart is broken, forget getting it out of the toaster--it's like pulling a cracker across a cheese grater--crumbs EVERYWHERE.
Guess I'm buying a new toaster this weekend.
But even knowing all that, I can't help myself -- I love Pop-Tarts. I even bought a toaster once just because it had a Pop-Tart setting.
I don't usually buy them (see above paragraph re: Mark's blood sugar). But Mark was gone, and I had a moment of weakness while strolling through the grocery store. OK, maybe it was more impulsive ("Mmmmm, Pop-Tarts!") than weak, but whatever, I ended up with a box of chocolate frosted Pop-Tarts.
So this morning, I unwrapped the foil packaging, placed my Pop-Tart into the toaster, and marveled at the marketing genius who put together the words "toaster" and "pastry." (I mean, really--when was the last time you said "Do I want something from the toaster, or do I want a pastry? Wait, I know--I'll have BOTH!")
It wasn't long before my breakfast was cooked, and I reached in carefully to retrieve it. And that is when my morning joy disintegrated...along with my Pop-Tart, which had somehow wedged itself between the two hot shards of metal that hold the bread slices in the toaster.
Damn...if you think a Pop-Tart is bad for your body, you oughtta see what it does to a toaster! As soon as you crack the outer shell (with say, a knife or fork you mistakenly think will pry the pastry loose), all the chocolately gooey-ness melts out, seeping into the toaster crevices, and coating the metal parts. And once that Pop-Tart is broken, forget getting it out of the toaster--it's like pulling a cracker across a cheese grater--crumbs EVERYWHERE.
Guess I'm buying a new toaster this weekend.
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