Sometimes even the healthiest of eaters miss the things they used to eat before they cleaned up their diets. That's true for us, anyway.
Both my husband and daughter react negatively to good old fashioned potatoes. You heard that right. No mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving; no French fries or potato chips.
So, we've cleaned up their diets and have committed to (usually) healthy alternatives. And I'm along for the ride, potato-wise.
For us, one part of healthy eating has been finding ways to replace what we used to enjoy.
Fortunately, not only are Japanese yams healthier than standard potatoes*, but they also taste better, in our opinion.
They're white on the inside, and easy to mash and put on the table next to the turkey (or tofurkey). Next to regular potatoes, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell them apart by looks alone. Kind of like Gwenyth Paltrow and me. (Kidding. Sigh.)
As an added bonus, this healthy alternative to potatoes has just a single ingredient. If you've seen my homemade almond butter, you'll know I like to use as few ingredients as possible.
They're one of the easiest crowd pleasers I know how to make. Everyone who's tried these at our house, loves them. And once again, I'm almost embarrassed to share the recipe because it's so simple. Consider it a gift from me to you!
Note: We also like using red garnet yams and prepare them the same way. Another delicious and healthy alternative!
My husband and I like them baked like a regular baked potato, as well, but the little fiber strings they sometimes have deter our texture-sensitive daughter. She jumps for joy at the chips, though, so it's a win for the whole family!
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*Source: https://healthyeating.sfgate.com/health-benefits-eating-sweet-potatoes-yams-4562.html
Knowing her grandparents will soon be asking for gift ideas for our daughter, my husband and I decided to take our five year old window shopping today. As usual and as I've written about before, we began with the caveat that although we wouldn't buy anything, we'd take pictures of what she likes so that we're sure to remember. This approach has pretty much been golden for us since she was two, and learning to delay gratification has contributed well to her growth mindset.
Today, however, she was really short on sleep. Even for me, an adult, a lack of sleep thwarts even the very best laid plans. Still, we pursued our endeavor to leave the house.
Upon entering the store, our child uncharacteristically said, "I've decided we're not just going to look at toys. We're going to buy some for me today to take home." I gently and clearly reminded her of our mission. And I hoped for the best.
We made it past the greeting card aisle and into the craft aisle. On display with the crafts, they were selling a sewing machine for kids. She picked it up and announced, "This is what we're buying for me today. Let's go check out now."
I wish I had a dime for every time I'd seen a parent in a similar predicament. I'd be able to buy a thousand sewing machines. Regardless, this was really unlike her.
I acknowledged how much she wanted it and reminded her that we'd put it on her list. I took a picture of it, and for good measure, so did my husband.
She announced that she would carry it through the store with us until it was time to check out, and then we'd buy it. I let her know that she'd be welcome to carry it through the store, but that we'd put it back on the shelf before leaving. Setting expectations upfront usually does wonders for keeping things mutually agreeable. However, the "mutually" wasn't happening here today. So, I presented it as a loving limit and took the time to discuss and validate how she felt.
Sure enough, she chose to carry it through the store, anyway. She had no interest in looking at any other toys. We stopped to look at some decorations and at a few items for my husband, but that was it. She wanted to go no farther, though, so we returned to the craft aisle, the sewing machine still firmly in her grip.
We had nowhere else to be, so we did a bit of emotion coaching to help her. However, it was still a no-go for her. She said she'd wait there "forever" until we bought it. Taking it from her forcefully would do nothing for her emotional intelligence, our connection, or her growth mindset. So we waited, letting her feelings be what they were, and trusting that this was temporary.
After awhile, I asked her to think of a way she'd be willing to leave it at the store. Because she wasn't in an emotional place to think logically right then, I offered her the options of either putting it back right away or walking toward the exit while she held onto it, until we reached the checkout area. At that point, her option would be to hand it to my husband to put back before we reached the door. She chose the latter. And for whatever reason, she quickly put the sewing machine back on the shelf where it belonged. However, she grabbed a unicorn craft that was nearby and held onto it just as steadfastly.
However, near the checkout area, she changed her mind and wouldn't relinquish it. At that point, I shared a story with her about a time when I was little and didn't get a toy I wanted. Her demeanor changed. She softened. For the first time in awhile, she looked me in the eyes and connected. She felt understood.
Shortly thereafter, she offered, "I don't want to put it back on the shelf. I want to put it somewhere...else."
I replied, "It's too hard to take it back to the craft aisle. You want to put it somewhere different."
"Yes. I want to hide it and see if Daddy can find it."
Fortunately, because she's five, her hiding places often include instructions such as, "Please don't look behind the chair."
She looked resolved, proud of having solved the problem herself. All she needed was the time and emotional support to do it. So, off we set on a short mission to find the perfect hiding place for it. After testing a few options, she settled on setting it between the feet of a mannequin. She promptly informed her Daddy not to look there. (Daddy, of course, returned it to its proper place once we were out of sight, and she confirmed later that it was exactly what she'd wanted him to do.)
And off we went to the car; her, sad but accepting, growing in her ability to solve problems. Even among the shiny objects; even when sleep deprived, she found a way to do it that was mutually agreeable. We can both sleep well tonight.
Although I was on the other side of the playground when it started, I suspect the conversation began something like this: "Hey, let's see if you can throw the football so hard that it gets stuck in the tree!" Perhaps having never experienced the frustration of getting a ball stuck up high, this young boy saw an opportunity to try something new.
Most of us have wished for the lost moments of our life back when we were working to retrieve an irretrievable item. As a result, most of us have made an unwritten rule that we should never throw something up there intentionally.
But not this boy.
Fortunately, his muse (who happens to be his teacher) is often game for challenging long-held beliefs--especially the ones that adults have imposed on kids, often without good reason. Rules for rules' sake, you know. "The way we've always done things."
By the time I arrived, they were drawing a crowd. We watched our impromptu quarterback throw the ball upwards toward the high branches. It's amazing how hard it is to get a ball to stick in a tree the one time you want it to stay there!
With some effort, but not too much, he threw the ball high enough. And it stuck, way up there. Right where the boy wanted it. Everyone rejoiced in the victory we all wanted.
We found joy in breaking a rule about how things "should" be. At least I did. It felt wonderful to do something differently than many would, just because we could. On some level, we found freedom in it.
We get to switch things up. We get to examine the rules we consciously hold because they've always been that way. Perhaps our parents raised us perfectly; gently; respectfully. It's good to emulate that in all the ways we can. Or perhaps they didn't, and now, with our own children, we can challenge our long-held beliefs about parenting. We get to break negative cycles. It's important to do that, too.
Sure, some rules make good sense; I'm not suggesting we throw our belongings into trees. Still, along with the rules we know we have, we can catch a glimpse of the ones we didn't even know we were holding. Maybe we reconsider a "truth" we have about discipline, boundaries, or the innate goodness of children.
In examining these things, we regain the same type of freedom that the boy unleashed for us by wanting the ball in the tree. We get to do things our way, even if they're different from what our parents and friends have done with their kids. We get to make our own rules, tossing out our parenting "shoulds" and replacing them with, "Sure, let's try that."
Having this freedom in parenting is not only a gift to our kids, but it's a gift to ourselves, too. Once we know the rules that don't serve our families well, we get to launch them as high and as far as we dare. And they can stick there, never returning.
There's incredible freedom in letting go.
Every week, I help teach a dance class. And every week for the past three months, six-year-old Lexi (not her real name) has had to be first in line when the children await their dance props (scarves and whatnot). When it's time to line up, she'll push other kids out of the way to get the prime spot. When she's dancing on stage and someone has a more desirable position than hers, she'll inch her way into the other dancer's space, slowly edging her out until she's right where she wants to be. Some of this can be very normal in child development. It's frustrating at times and certainly not how all kids develop, but normal for some children, nonetheless.
And up until last Monday, the kids in dance class had been finding ways to coexist with her without too much strife. I chalked it up to the world needing both leaders and followers. Some people are just a bit trickier than others.
Last week, however, Lexi was particularly rough when barreling over some of the other girls. This time, they didn't like it. And the more they tried to work with (and around her), the more determined she became.
Try as I might to stay patient and let them work it out, I was getting frustrated with this girl.
When I'm busy with a lot of kids, it's sometimes hard to remember that children usually know exactly what they need. They often know what would help remedy their undesirable behavior. Fortunately, I saw the struggling child in front of me, along with the opportunity to facilitate. So, I pulled her aside, hoping she'd take a shot at figuring out how to be fair to the other girls.
At first when I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to leave the stage with me for a moment, she furrowed her brow and crossed her arms, clearly in a defensive posture. She followed me, and we sat side-by-side on a stair. Starting with a problem statement, I told her, "I'm seeing lots of sad faces on lots of girls today. It seems that many of them want to have a turn being first in line."
I continued, "I wonder what we could do to keep it fair for everyone. Let's talk about some ideas."
Observing a wave of relief wash over her when she realized I was engaging her peacefully, she replied, "Oh, I know! We could make a list of everyone's names and then take turns, going down the list, to see who goes first."
Smiling, I told her I thought that seemed really reasonable.
And then I promptly ruined the moment by saying something about the "need to be fair" in a way that she could have perceived as condescending, which was exactly the opposite of what I hoped to do. Grrr. I felt instant remorse, but it was too late.
She continued just as she had before, pushing and clamoring over others to be first.
I heard myself wonder more than once, "What in the world is going on with her?"
As I've written about before, expert Kelly Matthews of A Place for You Early Childhood Consulting suggests (and as she learned from her mentor, Deb Curtis), “Don’t get mad, get curious.”
I'm decent (not perfect, but decent) at "getting curious" when it's my own child, but I'd forgotten this sage advice in a busy room full of movement and noise. Fortunately, that wisdom returned to me while I still had another chance to try it.
I pulled Lexi aside again. Her demeanor wasn't much better than the first time I'd done it. I don't blame her. But I stated factually, "It seems like something is hard for you today. I'm here if you'd like to talk about it."
And this time, she sat me down on the stairs, girls moving all around us. She seemed oblivious to them. She proceeded to tell me how she "never" gets to be first for anything at home: she has an older brother, and "he's the meanest". In her words, he never lets her do anything, and her parents always side with him because he's older and "knows more." She reinforced how hard that is before adding that she was missing her Mom.
I sat quietly, listening.
She continued that her Mom has been gone for awhile, visiting her Grandma far away. And her Grandma is dying. And she doesn't really know what that means, but she knows she misses her Mom and doesn't know why she can't come home to be with her.
On she went, citing all her very real troubles. Suddenly it made perfect sense why she was acting out here in class.
Understanding children's behavior happens best when we connect with them. When she was done sharing her story, I simply nodded, said I understood, and asked if she'd like a hug. She said yes. And then she wanted another. After that, she ran off, back to the group, and then out the door as class was ending.
For the next week until class met again, I wondered about her.
And then it was class time again.
I said nothing. However, I made sure to smile and go out of my way to say I was glad to see her. She told me about her new loose tooth (it's her first one!).
I observed that every time the girls lined up at the wall, she put herself third in line. Always exactly third. She didn't push anyone or do anything that would cause a teacher to raise an eyebrow.
So, at the end of class, I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Hey, I wanted to let you know I saw how hard you worked to keep class fair for everyone today. You let others go first. I see the effort you made. Thank you so much."
She smiled sincerely and added, "Yes, and I even offered my purple dancing scarf to another girl who I know likes purple, even though it's my favorite color!" She switched from smiling to all-out beaming, proud of herself. As she should be.
I get a lot of things wrong, but I do my best to assimilate what I've learned from other wise parents and teachers. I don't take credit for anything here--all I did was listen to Lexi. It's the simplest idea; the simplest way to connect. And as it turns out, that's exactly, and all, she needed.
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Update: Three more weeks have passed. She runs up to me and says hello every time she sees me. Her tooth is still loose, and her cooperation in class continues to be stellar (with no prompting whatsoever). Connection works, friends. I'm so proud of her.