Guilt is not on the menu

"It's not on the menu," I explain for the third time to my three-year-old asking for veggie straws. 

He pokes holes into the top of his grilled cheese sandwich and uses his silver Donald Duck spoon to drip tomato soup into those holes. This continues until he asks again. 

“Veggie straws veggie straws veggie straws!”

“I like veggie straws, too, Bub. Maybe we can have some tomorrow.” I am trying to keep my cool. 

One sloshy spoonful of soup makes it to his lips, but he spits it out in a spray of orange mist. I say nothing. He looks back at his plate and starts plopping green grapes into his mouth. Shoot, I should have cut those smaller, I think as he shovels them in without waiting to swallow. 

With the grapes now gone and the grilled cheese thoroughly mushy, he announces, “I’m done! Wash my hands, wash my hands!”

He only ate the grapes and that one spoonful of soup that he promptly spit out. Before, I would have bargained with him, scolded, threatened, bribed. Today I simply ask, 

“Is your tummy full?”

“All done!” he yells again. 

Without comment I help him down from his chair and he waddles over to the sink holding up his crummy soup stained hands like a doctor waiting to scrub in. I lift him onto the stool and make a mental note not to serve fruit with dinner. 

A few months ago, we started implementing a new food strategy with our “picky” eater. I found this dietitian on Instagram (where else?). Her big thing is Division of Responsibility. There are things the parents’ control: the menu, the time of meals, the place. The kids decide what and how much to eat from the food that is offered. Seconds are fine as long as they finish that portion. 

It has led to less fighting. Less stress. I offer variety and a balanced menu. I've released my desire to control his every bite through threats or rewards. This is the menu, period. He can eat what he chooses. 

We try not to comment on what or how much he eats. We try to make it all as neutral as possible. Food is food. Exposure counts. There are bigger goals than a balanced plate every single time: a healthy relationship with food, building trust, enjoying meal time together. 

It was hard to release the idea that he NEEDS to eat a balanced meal every single time.  Protein, fat, veggies, iron. The dietitian we follow encourages us to look at the big picture--the whole day, the whole week.

Let's say he only ate blueberries for breakfast and didn’t touch the yogurt. And then he only ate the grapes for lunch and left the soggy soup and sandwich. Not ideal, but not to worry. Since he's eaten only fruit all day, I can just adjust my dinner menu and offer no fruit option. I will pick his favorite, orange chicken from Panda Express. He most likely will eat the entire plate and pick at a few steamed carrots. Over the week, he’ll have had plenty of fruit, yes, but also orange chicken and peanut butter sandwiches and yogurt and noodles and oatmeal and maybe one of these days he will actually eat a whole grilled cheese and perhaps even allow a piece of broccoli to stay on his plate. 

I dry his hands and help him down from the step stool. He scurries off to complete an alphabet puzzle. I make a note to only offer fruit at one meal tomorrow, or maybe just at snack time. But today, this lunch time with the soupy sandwich, I will not stress about it.

***

I’ve started to wonder if this bigger picture approach applies to other areas of my life, too. Can I find this grace for myself? 

Can I see that maybe I don't have to work out AND write AND read the Bible AND clean the kitchen AND spend time outside AND listen to a podcast EVERY SINGLE DAY. Maybe I can look at the week as a whole, my life as a whole.

Instead of feeling guilty about not being disciplined enough to do all of these things everyday, can I ask myself what I AM DOING. 

Am I doing one or two of those things every day? Am I getting a variety of self-care activities throughout the week? Can I adjust my goal (and expectations and therefore disappointment) for the greater good (a healthy relationship with myself)?

And if it’s okay not to do these things every day, why do I still feel like I'm floundering? I think about Aidan. He probably doesn't feel that great an hour later when he only ate fruit for lunch, but there is no need to add condemnation or guilt on top of it.

It's true, I don't feel great when I don't have time to workout, but it's not serving me, or anyone for that matter, to feel bad about it. 

What acts of self-care can I fit into my day? Like with Aidan's meal menu, what can I adjust later in the day based on what happened in the beginning? Can I add in a walk to the mailbox, 15 minutes to read a book, just 10 minutes to tidy the kitchen?

What will make me feel good, strong, proud, energized, accomplished?

Instead of beating myself up for not doing IT ALL everyday, can I celebrate all of the ways I showed up for myself throughout the week? 

Exposure counts. There are bigger goals than a fully completed to-do list: a healthy relationship with myself, building trust that these small actions add up, enjoying time with my family. 

I created a list of all the things that refuel me, a menu with no wrong choices--working out, reading, writing, spending 20 minutes knocking out work email or inputting grades, etc. It’s not a list of MUST-DOs, but a list of COULD-DOs. A sprinkling of suggestions for self-care for whenever I find pockets of time. 

Oh, yes, and napping too. Yes, a nap should certainly be on the menu.