Musings on eating, with two hands

If not for that well-placed comma in today's post title, you just might think what follows will be all about double-fisted dining. That's not it at all. Today I'm spouting recent thoughts I've had on the contradictions related to kids and how they eat. Or don't eat.

On one hand (this is the "two hands" part), we all know about, are concerned about the frightening statistics on childhood obesity today. The issue tops the list of those addressed by our first lady, health and welfare organizations, doctors, school lunch programs. Most importantly, it's something on the minds of many a parent and grandparent.

We all want our kiddos to eat less, move more, be in better shape overall. Privately as well as publicly, we show concern that kids are exercising too little, eating too much.

That's on one hand.

On the other hand, always on the minds of mothers and grandmothers, more so than anyone, is how the heck to get our little ones to eat. Especially when it comes to toddlers. They don't seem to eat when we want them to or what we want them to.

In direct contrast to the obesity issue, there's the continual concern on the part of many a frazzled parent or grandparent that a child isn't getting enough food. There are books, magazines, websites, television programs dedicated to helping figure out how to get some food into the mouths and tummies of those tiny tots so they can grow up big and strong.

We beg, plead, cajole, bribe, sometimes even punish, all in the name of getting Junior to eat. I'm not talking about just veggies and other healthy foods. If you regularly enjoy the company of a child under the age of five, you likely know what I mean.

My oldest grandson is the very pickiest of the pickiest kids I have ever met. That darn kid doesn't like pudding...or whipped cream...or jello. He doesn't like jelly on his peanut butter sandwiches. He refuses to eat cheese quesadillas if the brown spots on the tortilla are noticeable. And he has never, ever had a hamburger—not even as part of a McDonald's Happy Mealin. Not in his entire life. Seriously. "I don't like them" is his response when asked why. How he knows that is your guess as good as mine, since he's never had so much a nibble of a burger.

Yet he does like avocados, broccoli, salmon. A kid can't live on those things alone, though. Well, they probably could...maybe...but that's not being realistic. So his mom and dad (and grandma and other caregivers, at times) spend inordinate amounts of time and energy trying to get the kid to eat. Anything. I used to think Megan was making it up. Then I spent extended time with Bubby and came away wondering—still wonder—how he manages to stay alive much less thrive.

Then there's his brother. My youngest grandson. My Mac. The happiest little eater ever. Mac dives right in, willing to experience all things edible—plus things non-edible at times, too. He even dipped into the salsa dish just like the big boys when we recently visited a Mexican restaurant. Sure, he once famously sneered and snarled at strawberries, but he gobbled them right up the very next day, so those Grandma served up just must have seemed exceptionally tart to him.

Mac enjoys food, enjoys eating. Nearly anything. Megan sent me the following photos the other night of Mac happily trying out a new recipe she had cooked up.

 

Bubby greets Mommy's new recipes with disdain; Mac delights in them, requires a big fork to to satisfy his big appetite.

On one hand there's Bubby, who refuses to eat. On the other hand there's Mac, who eats anything and everything.

On one hand there's the problem of childhood obesity and the need to get kids to eat less and better. On the other hand there's the frustration and desperation many parents face in trying to get their kids to eat anything at all.

Parenting can be a challenge, and never more so—nor more conflict-ridden—than when it comes to kids and food. The getting them to eat, but not eat too much.

Just one more reason I'm glad I'm Grandma to little ones, not Mom. I get to muse; Megan/Mom gets to wring her hands while trying to figure out how to make her kids eat—just not too much.

Today's question:

What has been your bigger challenge as a parent or grandparent: Getting kids to eat less and more healthy or getting them to eat anything at all?

I would do anything for love (but I won't do that)

Remember the old Meatloaf song, the over-the-top and emotionally draining "I Would Do Anything For Love (but I won't do that)." If not, feel free to take a moment and refresh your memory here.

That song has run through my head several times in the past few weeks, in response to recent news reports. For when it comes to my family and friends—my daughters in particular, in this instance—I sincerely would do anything for love. Whatever that anything may be, whether time, money, attention, affection, I will do and give to the full extent I'm able.

But, as that earworm of a song says, I won't do that. That being what some incredible and amazing mothers—grandmothers, really—have recently made the news for doing.

SO BLESSED MY GRANDSONS CAME NATURALLY.You may recall the many stories online and off about the kind and courageous—and physically fit, I must add—grandmother who served as a surrogate for her infertile daughter. The daughter was repeatedly unsuccessful in carrying a child to term, so the sixty-one-year-old mother, who had gone through menopause ten years prior, agreed to hormone supplementation and in vitro fertilization of her daughter's egg and her son-in-law's sperm. She successfully carried to term and in August, delivered via Cesarean section her daughter's biological daughter. Her own grandchild.

What an amazing gift to give a beloved daughter. And this most recent woman is not alone, as such surrogacies have taken place countless times in the past.

I truly, madly, deeply love my three daughters. But I don't think I'm selfless enough to commit to being a surrogate for any of them.

Serving as a surrogate isn't the most recent act of selflessness on the part of a mother, a grandmother-to-be, that has made the news. Yesterday's newspaper (yes, I read the actual print paper) featured a story abouttwo Swedish women who underwent the world's first mother-to-daughter uterus transplants, in hopes they will be successful in getting pregnant and giving birth. That's two daughters with two mothers who gave up their uteruses (uteri?) for the love of their child. One daughter had her uterus removed because of cancer, the other was born without a uterus. Now, thanks to their moms, they each have one. Now the quest to bear children is on.

I honestly cannot imagine the point of desperation one must reach in order to consider, much less do such a thing. Such a heartbreaking state it must be. Regardless, if any one of my daughters came to me entertaining such a thought, suggesting such a plan, I couldn't do it. I really am not that strong, not that selfless.

And I really am not so committed to becoming a grandma that I'd birth my own grandchildren.

Although, I already am a grandma, so I can't say for sure.

I'm not judging any of the grandmothers who sacrifice in such a way, I promise. I truly think they are incredibly loving, giving women who have gone above and beyond the call of duty of a mother, of a grandmother. I'm just trying to understand the degree of cojones it takes. And why I don't have them, what I'm lacking that makes me, as a mother, unwilling to do such a thing for my own daughters, if need be.

In all honesty, because of various health issues, I'm pretty darn sure I would not be physically able to be a surrogate or offer up my uterus to be transplanted into my daughter. My oldest happened to be visiting as I wrote this, and I asked her if she'd ever consider requesting I be her surrogate or uterus donor. Her immediate response was "no," because of what the health repercussions may be to me, her mother.

I admit to being a wee bit thankful for those health issues that make me a poor candidate. They save me from having to find out for sure how deep is my love, for my girls, for my future grandchildren. At least when it comes to doing that. Because—more honesty here—I can't be one-hundred-percent certain that I wouldn't do such a thing, if it would make all the difference in a daughter's world if I did.

I pray my girls never reach the point of such desperation for children that surrogacy and transplants requiring my participation are a consideration. For any of us.

When it comes to my daughters, I really, truly, honestly would do anything for love.

But I won't do that.

I don't think.

And I hope I never have to find out for sure.

(Photography by Alison Baum. Full stories on the women mentioned can be found here and here.)

Today's question:

How about you? Would you do that?

Brusha, brusha, brusha

I receive hundreds of press releases in my Grandma's Briefs mailbox each week. I get lots of info on lots of things: good things, scary things, important things, fun things, nifty-gadgety things. And more often than you might think, bizarro things that make me wonder why in the world the PR folks thought I'd appreciate such information.

One of the recent scary-but-important things I received was a press release relaying the information that, according to top U.S. dental associations, the United States is experiencing a resurgence in childhood tooth decay. An especially interesting stat was that dental disease is now the top chronic health problem for children, per the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

BUBBY'S FIRST DENTIST VISITThe news made me thankful Bubby recently had his first dental visit, where he, his pearly whites, and his teeth-brushing techniques were given an A for effort.

Part of the reason dental disease is such a problem nowadays, according to the information, lies in the fact many parents don’t think baby teeth are important, as they’ll be replaced by a child’s permanent teeth. Also, some pediatricians—my grandsons’ included—typically recommend a child first visit the dentist at three years of age. Dental associations, though, have recently updated their recommendation for dentist visits, saying it should happen once the very first tooth erupts.

Which means Bubby, at four years old and with a mouthful of teeth, was way late in getting to the dentist. And that even Mac, at 13 months but well on his way to a full mouth, needs to get in the dentist's chair pronto.

Dental care is a parent's duty, not a grandparent's. In light of the stats and the updated info, though, here are a few ways grandparents can help promote good brushing habits and cavity prevention in their grandchildren:

• Encourage parents (without overstepping your boundaries, of course) to take the kiddos to the dentist as soon as that first tooth is celebrated.

• Be sure grandchildren brush morning and night when staying at your house. Have fun (and spare) toothbrushes on hand, as well as flavored toothpastes that appeal to the little ones. Perhaps make a game of it and brush together. Also, be sure to supervise the older ones and do the actual brushing for little ones.

• When seeking small gift ideas, consider giving new toothbrushes and toothpastes featuring a child’s favorite characters. Or maybe a battery powered one, if a grandchild doesn’t have one at home.

• Limit candy, soda, and sweet treats that aren’t good for teeth.

• Same goes for fast food and processed foods, which are typically high in sugar.

• Never share eating utensils with children as that can transfer cavity-producing bacteria from your mouth to theirs.

• Keep on the lookout for tooth decay and halitosis (bad breath). If noticed, mention it—again, tactfully—to Mom or Dad.

• Read books together that focus on good dental habits. Consider ABC Dentist: Healthy Teeth from A to Z by Harriet Ziefert as well as the numerous books in which favorite characters—Dora the Explorer, Berenstain Bears, Elmo, Spongebob—visit the dentist.

Unless you’re in the dental field, you probably don’t spend a lot of time focusing on the dental care of your grandchildren. Grandparents are in a perfect position to help promote good brushing habits and cavity prevention, though, so it can't hurt and will surely help.

Bubby and Mac best prepare to get a fair share of toothbrushes from Gramma going forward. Though I have a feeling gifts of toothbrushes will be accepted by my grandsons in a manner similar to that of Bubby's robot dishes.

If nothing else, they'll have healthy teeth to grit while expressing their (forced) appreciation for Gramma's gifts.

Today’s question:

What's the going rate per tooth from the Tooth Fairy in your family, in the past or nowadays?

The Saturday Post: The Boomer Can Can

Even if you're not a baby boomer (born 1946-1964), I'm pretty sure you can relate to this video.

For those of you who couldn't tell who the guy was on the posters they waved around at the end, I couldn't tell either. So I checked into it, and it's George Clooney. Yeah, baby!

Happy Saturday, my boomer and non-boomer buddies!

Brain fog, head games and Cranium Crunches

I always admired my mother-in-law's determination to keep her mind functioning as well as possible. She did crossword puzzles every single day and regularly engaged in new activities to help keep the wheels of her aging brain turning.

I used to enjoy crossword puzzles but I've done only a handful in the past decade or so. I did start taking piano lessons in my forties in hopes of increasing the dendrites in my brain, those little networking cables that make the mind move better the more you have. Unfortunately, though, I had to eliminate piano lessons when money got tight. My determination to keep up the practicing sans lessons pooped out soon after, as well as my dendrite production.

My mind and memory have apparently pooped out, too. A recent lunch with a friend I'd not seen in more than five years made me all too aware of my egregious lack of recall. As my friend and I and her daughter dined and discussed getting together with our husbands for a game night, I told my friend that although I don't know her husband, he must be a pretty good guy if she's married to him. To which she responded that I have indeed met him, have actually had him and her over to our house for a barbecue several years ago.

I didn't remember. At all. And felt pretty stupid about it. I couldn't even blame it on having a few too many beers during that forgotten BBQ because it wasn't that kind of a gathering, considering her then-adolescent kids had attended and enjoyed hanging out in our hot tub. Which I didn't recall either. At all.

Again, I felt pretty stupid. I wanted to blame the brain fog on having MS, to say, "Oh, I must have a sclerosis smack dab on top of that specific memory." But that would be even more stupid. And surely a lie.

Truth is, my brain fog, my memory, my total (or even partial) recall has been getting worse and worse and worse as I age. And I'm not really all that aged. But I find myself more often than before forgetting what I was going to say in certain circumstances, and I've become pretty bad at brainiac things I was once good at, like word play and matching games and puzzles.

I've found help, though. It's free, it's fun, it makes a difference, and it can be enjoyed by anyone at any age. It's called Cranium Crunches.

Cranium Crunches is the brain child (yes, pun intended; I can still throw together a pun now and then) of Ruth Curran. Curran, who is degreed in psychology and has extensive research experience, hatched the idea for the site after witnessing dementia issues with her parents—attributable to cancer and chemo in her mother's case, Parkinson's disease in her father—and the difference puzzles and games made in restoring their cognitive ability and their confidence.

"I set out to create a series of photo based puzzles that remind us of our lives," Curran says, "a set of brain exercises with cross generational appeal that provide a safe place to practice those skills that might be slipping, work on/hone some skills, improve focus, or just look at some cool photos and tell stories. It had to be free, require no subscription, no plan, no commitment—just come and play."

Which is exactly what Cranium Crunches provides, as well as a page on what games will help you most. The selection of photo-based games and puzzles include Memory Match, Find the Difference, One of These Things is Not Like the Others and more. All the games are quite fun and engaging, but my favorite so far has been Find the Difference, mostly because I'm determined to find them all before my time is up (which I've not yet been successful at). With increasing degrees of difficulty, it's easy to choose one you like and get better and better and better at it, all the while exercising that cranium and achieving an ageless brain in tip-top shape.

Ageless and tip-top shape is my goal for my brain. I've got quite a ways to go, though, according to the scores I've earned so far in my Cranium Crunches game play. But it's a start. And it's fun. And it's something I plan to incorporate into my daily routine—just like my mother-in-law used to do with her crossword puzzles.

photo: stock.xchng

Disclosure: I wrote this blog post while participating in a campaign by BOOMboxNetwork.com on behalf of Cranium Crunches and received payment for my participation. All opinions stated within are my own.

Today's question:

What do you like to do to keep your mind challenged and exercised?

Photo replay: Colorful characters

Andrea and Brianna—my youngest and my eldest—participated yesterday in The Color Run, billed as "3.1 miles of color madness."

These are my daughters before the race:

And these are my daughters after:

The 5k clearly lives up to its name.

Best wishes to you for a Sunday that's just as colorful.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Batteries included: Childproofing Grandma's house

During the days I served as sole caretaker of Bubby and Baby Mac a few weeks ago, Baby Mac's favorite thing to get into was the television cabinet. He loved nabbing the Wii remotes hidden within and walking around with one in each hand. If he didn't feel like going through the hassle of wrangling the Wii remotes out of the cabinet, he simply grabbed the universal remote for the television, which was usually nearby on the recliner or ottoman.

The kid likes remotes. No big deal.

Turns out it is a big deal, though—a big dangerous deal, thanks to the easily accessible and potentially fatal batteries inside the clickers he covets.

Because of Baby Mac's obsession with remote controls, the following news story struck quite a chord when I happened upon it Monday evening:

Scary, huh!?

Then, the very next day I received an email from the Battery Controlled campaign from Energizer and Safe Kids Worldwide. It offered stats from the American Academy of Pediatrics plus additional information on the dangers of lithium batteries, including a link to this video:

As grandparents who often have little visitors, we've childproofed our homes, just like the parents of our grandchildren have done. We've covered outlets, wrapped up window cords, secured screens on windows, bought baby gates and bathtub mats and hidden our medications and more in cabinets where little ones can't reach them. But did any of us—parents included—consider the dangers of remote controls, key fobs, hearing aids, greeting cards, bathroom scales, iPods, iPads and more?

I sure didn't.

That's no longer the case, though. Not only will I have an eye on every remote and other button battery-operated gadget next time Baby Mac and Bubby visit my house, I've shared the videos with Megan and encouraged her to do the same battery-proofing at her house.

I encourage you to do the same, too: Share the warnings with the parents of your grandchildren, and heed the warnings in your own home.

Today's question:

What's your guesstimate of how many button battery-operated gadgets you might have around your house?

This post has been linked to:

SITS Saturday Sharefest

and

Wherein I pat myself on the back and reveal a secret

I've posted pictures and praise a time or two here on Grandma's Briefs about the accomplishments of my daughters when it comes to races and running. I'm proud of them and their pursuits, and I sincerely wish I could do the same.

On Saturday I came close to exactly that, in a relative sort of way, and I'm pretty darn proud of myself. Hence the "pat myself on the back" part of the title. In order for that pat to make sense to most readers, though, I must first share a secret. Well, it's not really a secret, as I've not hidden it from anyone, I just don't blatantly address it. Most offline friends—and a few online ones—know of my so-called secret. Now you all will.

The secret is this: I have MS. Multiple sclerosis. This coming Sunday—Mother's Day, May 13—marks twenty years since I was diagnosed. I do quite well with it, far better than many, as I was fortunate to end up with the relapsing-remitting form, not the progressive form. In fact, it's been a blessing in my life, to a certain degree, thanks to various things I've learned, changed, accepted because of it.

My MS does not define me, and it's really not important that you know I have it—except when it comes to understanding today's back-patting post.

You see, on Saturday morning I participated in the National MS Society's annual Walk MS event, along with Brianna and Andrea—and Jim, who served as moral support and photographer. I had walked it in 2008 to, in my opinion, rather disastrous results. I finished the walk—finding it far more challenging reaching the finish line than expected, thanks to a dragging foot—but I could not make it to the car afterward. Brianna had to bring the car to me.

Ever since, I've been afraid to attempt the Walk MS event again. Until this year.

In early March, I believe it was, I saw the commercial on TV and immediately texted Brianna and Andrea to ask if they'd join me. They enthusiastically said "yes," and we were off and running. Or, walking. On Saturday.

Saturday's walk featured a one-mile course that continued on for a three-mile course for those who felt up to it. In 2008, the one-mile kicked my butt. This year, I was able to do the entire three-mile course and still managed to walk back to the car, which was nearly another freakin' mile, it seemed, thanks to the thousand or so participants.

Yay for Lisa! Pat, pat, pat on my very own back! I felt like following Baby Mac's lead and babbling, "I did it! I did it!"

Here are highlights:

Not only did I prove I could do it, I thoroughly enjoyed the morning with my daughters as they matched my pace to a military style march much like the one I do when walking my dogs (repeated in my head, not aloud...for the most part). Let me assure you, it's much more fun marching with my girls.

It was a good day.

I just had to share.

Thank you for indulging me.

<pat> <pat> <pat>

Today's question:

What accomplishments have you recently patted yourself on the back for? (And I do hope you have given yourself a pat, no matter how big or small the accomplishment.)

Photo replay: Walking partners

My walking partners for the week:

Baby Mac & Bubby — April 18, 2012

They'll surely be easier to keep up with than Mickey and Lyla. Especially because if we happen upon a wild animal, they'll run from it rather than to it like the dogs do. I hope.

Happy Sunday, one and all!

The Saturday Post: Alive Inside edition

Yet another testament to the power of music. And the iPod.

Today's question:

What music do you currently have on your iPod or other music device?