Something is very bittersweet about the first frost.  The end of the growing season is coming, ushered in by the cold rime of a billion shiny points of frozen water, harbinger of the coming halt of verdant life.

Life becomes slower. Things fall asleep, dreaming under a blanket of white about the coming rebirth of springtime.

We cozy up in warm socks with cups of tea and books in hand (ok, parents of little ones actually DON’T do this but one can dream, can one not?), or sketching next year’s plots, perusing seed catalogs, adding up totals, reluctantly scratching off the  Black Pearl Ornamental pepper, one packet for $4.95, and put in instead the prairie grass ($2.75) for the wild corner, and weigh and consider and in our heads the profusion of flowers and vegetables that will adorn our gardens next year (except NOT, because it NEVER turns out as good in reality as it was in your head. chalk one more thing up to experience. try again NEXT year. AGAIN.) unfold and flourish.

First frost.

End and beginning.

They tell me it gets better.

 

WHEN does it get better?

 

I don’t see it getting better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One

Plus One

Equals Two

Don’t you just love it when people who don’t even know you or know very much about you give you critical advice that you MUST follow or you’ll regret it?  I’m still stewing over a situation I got myself into today and have moved from kind of hurt to pissed off.

Miles is having some minor health issues and I thought I’d hop onto my local Weston A. Price Foundation listserve to find out what their thoughts were on traditional, nourishing foods to address the problems and help heal him.  After all, I’m  big believer in food being our medicine.

So, silly me, once I explained the current situation, I checked back eagerly throughout the day to see what people might have to say.  And lo and behold what they had to say was this:

I am “allowing” my child to only eat certain foods.

My child is a picky eater.

I need to “nip” his “picky eating habits” in the bud or I’ll “regret it” later.

Definitely don’t allow him to snack during the day, 3 squares and that’s it

and, my personal favorite so far

I should just serve him his dinner and if he doesn’t like it he can eat again at breakfast.  (oh, yes? really?  feel free to come to my house at 1:37 a.m. when he wakes up crying from an empty belly and YOU be the one to get up with him, feed him and then get him back to sleep. or not. because maybe he won’t be ABLE to get back to sleep for another 3 hours. feel free to just come and do that. that’s fine.)

First of all, all I asked for was some dietary advice.  I thought this was the Weston A Price group, NOT the James Dobson group.

Secondly, you have no idea about me as a parent but even more specifically about my son and the type of child he is.

I pick my battles with my son.  They are many. He is persistent. I pick the ones that I have the most chance of winning.  The rest is a non-issue.

My son doesn’t like green beans?  What do I care?  He eats curry!

It’s not that he’s picky, he just could care less about food.  He’d much rather play hungry than sit and eat and not play.   And that’s what he does. Unless I remind him to eat…and remind him..and remind him…and cajole…and sit there…and finally put the food into his mouth….and 45 minutes later he’s eaten a 1/4 cup of oatmeal.

Who has time for that?

I make sure that the things he likes best are of the best quality I can afford and if he won’t eat onions, well, I for one am not going to get my knickers in a twist.

This child is more persistent than 3 kids put together.  Someday I’m sure that will be a good thing.  Right now, as his mother, it seriously drives me to the brink sometimes.  Look, YOU KNOW how he is if you’ve read this blog from a few years back…go refresh your memory if you need to, I’ll wait.

So he has a limited menu of likes?  He can freaking READ and WRITE.  So stuff it, ladies.  Don’t judge me, don’t judge my son. If you don’t have anything actually useful to say, don’t waste my time with your preachy drivel. Go away and ferment something but leave me alone.