How teachers can support children of single parents

It was my son’s “sophomore year” of preschool.

He was four and felt good about returning to the classroom where he’d have one more year to practice tying his sneakers on the shoe board, spend lots of time at his favorite math center, sing songs about loving all kinds of people, put the Wheel of Choices to use when there were tantrums and grabbing blocks and tears, and would somehow get through the nap hour every day. He loved that classroom, had oodles of friends and was led by an amazing teacher who lapsed into cheery, accompanied sign language, even while talking to parents. Big things happened in kindergarten, he’d heard, and he was still very happy to be back in room 008.

The teacher pulled me aside that first week of his second year.

 I’d been talking to my group of mom friends, women I’d developed a relationship with the previous year and had spent time with over play dates and Friday night dinners where the juice boxes and wine flowed freely. We were a tight-knit circle of working mothers who helped each other out when babysitters cancelled, traffic was horrific and when we really just needed a few child-free hours to go to Target or dinner. Those moms had become a social and support network for me during the critical months of my early divorce. With one conversation with the pre-K teacher, the circle was about to expand by one mom.

“I want you to meet another Jessica,” she said. “She’s a single mom, too. I think you two should know each other. And I think your boys will get along well.”

That one insight, and the sensitivity to bring two women going through similar stuff, both with boys, was one of the kindest, most supportive school moments I’ve had as a parent. The teacher had so many gifts to offer my son, and in this interaction, she was also tending to me, maybe more than she knew.

At the restaurant where we like to meet, four or so years since that introduction, the staff sometimes puts “The Jessicas” on our bill. And although our sons now go to different schools and only see each other every few months, there is a shorthand there that they both can read.

The first time we went to their house for pizza and a playdate, this single mama’s son greeted mine at the door.

“So,” he said, trying to act casual, “I hear your parents are divorced.”

“Yup,” my boy answered, no frills attached.

“Cool,” the other kid responded. “Want to see the tons of Legos in my room?”

And then they were off. And we were left, the Jessicas, standing silent and teary and a momentous meeting at the front door that neither of our sons saw as anything at all outside the norm.

The preschool teacher who facilitated that meeting also listened attentively and compassionately when I let her know we were moving, that my son was struggling with visitation transitions, and other unfoldings of our home life that I could have kept private. Sometimes she offered information on child development, other times she offered to incorporate those issues in anonymous ways in class lessons, and she often reassured me that, despite the turmoil of the divorce, where my son was showing signs of thriving.

She was, in my experience, the ideal teacher for a single parent. In the years since, she and other teachers have offered other kinds of support that have made the classroom a kinder place for both my student and me to be. Here are a couple of shining single-parent supportive moments:

1. Adding “two-home” books to the unit on families. When the preschoolers were studying how families work as a part of their social studies curriculum, we donated a copy of My Two Homes to the classroom. When kids had questions about how it worked for my son, he had the opportunity to answer and the other students then felt free to bring it up. It normalized a situation and now his friends think it’s no biggie that his mom and dad don’t live together, that the Not Boyfriend is often around and that Santa has two stops to make for him.

2. Agreeing to separate parent-teacher conferences. No matter whether I’m in court or on civil terms with my son’s father or not, scheduling our own times to meet with the teacher has made a big difference in how much can happen in that ten minutes twice a year. I’ve been grateful when teachers are willing to add more time to their packed-full schedules to accommodate our situation and our very different work hours. Most importantly, it allows me to focus in solely on my son, to get through questions I have and to really hear the teacher’s assessment.

3. Alerting me if we’ve both signed up to volunteer for the same event. I’ve let teachers know that I am happy to chaperone on field trips, set up for assemblies and get as room-parenty as they like, but it’s not best for me to hold small hands through the zoo if my ex-husband is also present. I don’t want to put my boy in an awkward which-parent-do-I-stand-with? situation so I am happy to bow out until another field trip, International Fest or field day. I simply say, “Can you please let me know if his dad raises his hand to volunteer and I will happily sign up for another time?” and they have most often helped.

In a perfect co-parenting arrangement, this wouldn’t be an item on the list. None of these items may need to be on your list at all, in fact. If you have that, more power (and co-chaperoning to the planetarium and pumpkin farm) to you.

For us, for the last five years, I’m grateful for the gestures teachers have made to support a single mom’s kid being in and being comfortable in their classrooms. It’s not necessary, not required, and has made a big difference with a book, an introduction or ten more minutes of time.

How have teachers supported your unique family situation? How would you like teachers to support your single-parented family?

This post originally appeared on Sassafrass Says So on Babble.com.

8 life lessons your picky eater is learning

“Picky eating is rude,” the post begins.

The title of the post is even more clear, not about why, but who exactly is at the receiving end of this accusing finger: “Your kid is a picky eater and it’s a really big deal.”

The body of the post, the kale-and-quinoa-filled body, goes on to list all you, blamed wrongful parent you, are robbing your picky child of while his own body is brimming with dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. 

My son is a picky eater, and so am I. I didn’t choose this path for him, although there are certainly ways I contribute to it, but I also don’t fear that it will limit his life or narrow his world or be detrimental to his character. And I know it hasn’t turned him into an ungrateful person who isn’t enjoying life and has bad manners (that's the list, nugget lovers).

My intention here is not to point the finger back at the author. I applaud that her love of cooking and eating has been passed on to the plates and palates of her children. My beef (my son and I both good with red meat, for the record) is with the sweeping and harsh generalization of who picky eaters are and what kind of life and meals we are enjoying.

Rather than focus on the criticism, the author's or anyone else’s, I choose to focus on the positives of picky eating. Would life be easier if I ate every damn thing at the farmers market? OF COURSE. But I don’t, and here is what I’ve gained and what my son is learning while we are happily eating what is (currently) on our list. 

“Picky eating is rude,” Emma Johnson writes on Wealthy Single Mommy.

The title of the post is even more clear, not about why, but who exactly is at the receiving end of this accusing finger: “Your kid is a picky eater and it’s a really big deal.”

Johnson writes about finances and emotional wealth and single parenting and the model of marriage, and in her own words in the list of links on WSM, she says she stirs stuff up. But what’s being stirred here isn’t just quinoa and kale. Or even avocado, the one food she says her five-year old refuses to eat. She writes:

I think it’s wonderful that her young daughter has such a diverse and healthy diet. I do. I love that this family frequents farmers markets and eats most meals together and entertains guests. Sustenance, in the form of the meal and the conversation and the comaraderie, feeds us all. I provide that for my child as well. It’s just that he won’t be eating eggplant. Or bleu cheese. Or anything with barbecue sauce. 

At least not this week. Probably not this year. My son is a picky eater, and so am I. I didn’t choose this path for him, although there are certainly ways I contribute to it, but I also don’t fear that it will limit his life or narrow his world or be detrimental to his character. And I know it hasn’t turned him into an ungrateful person who isn’t enjoying life and has bad manners (see list of what Johnson says you are robbing your children of if you are raising them as picky eaters).

My intention here is not to point the finger back at Johnson. I applaud that her love of cooking and eating has been passed on to the plates and palates of her children. My beef (my son and I both good with red meat, for the record) is with the sweeping and harsh generalization of who picky eaters are and what kind of life and meals we are enjoying.

This isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last, that picky eaters of any age are criticized for the list of foods they don’t like. Picky eaters often get flak for crossing off foods from their own personal menus or grocery lists. Forty-one years later, my parents still don’t understand why I don’t like the creamy texture of mayo, Alfredo sauce, Hollandaise, or soft-boiled eggs. There’s a comment made on that topic at nearly every meal we share. Strangers feel free to chime in as soon as they see me pass over calamari at a seafood buffet or don’t put out green peppers with my hummus potluck dish. Even if I make no mention of what I don’t like to eat, others have plenty to say about it.

I can deal with that, just as I can politely send back the dish I’ve requested to have the aioli on the side when it comes slathered in aioli. I can swallow the eye rolls and teasing and judgment, but none of it makes me want to eat aioli anyway. None of it changes my mind or tastes or choices when I am ordering or reading a recipe.

Rather than focus on the criticism, Johnson’s or anyone else’s, I choose to focus on the positives of picky eating. Would life be easier if I ate every damn thing at the farmers market? OF COURSE. But I don’t, and here is what I’ve gained and what my son is learning while we are happily eating what is (currently) on our list. Read and see why no one is getting robbed around our dinner table. 

1. Adaptability. A skill I’ve learned and am teaching my son is how to find something we will or can eat in every situation where food is served. If you don’t see anything on the menu at first scan that suits your taste, it is on you to figure out what you will order. Perhaps this means you will try something new you hadn’t considered before, or maybe there are three sides that will make a perfectly healthy and filling meal. Maybe this is a restaurant where you can kindly request a bowl of their delicious homemade pasta, just with butter instead of all the Alfredo. At home, there are always plenty of veggies we both love and often fruit served with meals. Sometimes, it means eating that sandwich slathered with aioli anyway. And that’s OK, too. Figuring out how to fare when you don’t love the food is a bigger lesson about finding your way when you’re outside your comfort zone. One he will use when he travels in Europe after college (I did) and when he is living with sloppy roommates (you had to do that, too, I bet) and on his first day at every job he ever takes.

2. Acceptance. There are plenty of kids in my son’s class with nut allergies or who are lactose-intolerant. But when a little girl came over for a play date with a long list of allergies so severe that I wasn’t sure anything in our snack basket would work for her, it didn’t worry me. She was well-versed in foods she could have and how to check labels and ingredients to make sure she would not have an attack that would land her in the hospital. I asked her to list what she could have and would like from the narrowed list and then we hunted through the kitchen to find something to feed her. But I would have done the same for a kid who was really picky, too. When you are in my home, I want you to feel happy and full and have a good time. If I flipped out that one of my son’s best friends doesn’t eat cheese, chocolate, yogurt or anything crunchy, then that wouldn’t make the playdate more fun. I don’t have to stress about being a personal chef or having a grocery store inside my pantry. Something I do have will work. It always does.

3. Good manners. People who are good at being picky eaters can also simultaneously be thankful. One of my friends has a husband who eats seven foods. SEVEN. When I had a dinner party, I purposely made a dish I knew was on that list, and it made me feel appreciated when he thanked me profusely and filled his plate. With that one thing. Sometimes, being polite means trying foods you aren’t keen on, especially if they were cooked just for you. And more important is a “yes, please” and “no, thank you,” no matter what is in the serving spoon.

4. Precious adventure. There is a safe haven in our home. I will make dishes I want my son to try, I will encourage him to push the boundaries of his comfort zone, and he will always have food and be well-fed. But I am not going to make a meal of five things he doesn’t like at all, either. He has to try a few bites of everything, but I am not going to insist that he likes it (see above: pressure does not make for a refined palate). When we took a big trip to Hawaii, however, I made a big deal about how it was an opportunity for both of us to be adventurous eaters. And we were! Oxtail ramen, sushi, new and delicious fruits. And the next week we went home to the comfort of organic peanut-butter and locally made jam (posed as simply PB&J for picky eaters). Hawaii was our model for other vacation meals, and maybe one day it will help my son to remember when he is in Thailand that there are dishes beyond Chicken Satay that he might sample, if only during that week. Delving into adventure together was a bonding moment for us, and we will do it again. Just probably not at lunch tomorrow. That doesn’t make it less precious or experiential.

5. Changing tastes. I was a pretty picky eater as a kid. And even as a teen and in my early 20′s. Then I moved across country and had a poor grad-school student’s diet of cheap beer and iceberg lettuce for a few years. So when I got a part-time job as a hostess at a restaurant, I was not only hungry, I was more mature, more open-minded and ready to try the dishes that my colleagues were sauteeing up a few feet away. When I was promoted to be a server, I had to try even more foods so I could properly describe them to my customers. I learned to love tomatoes and I ate seafood chowder (creamy! and with scallops!) regularly. More than a decade later, I fell in love with a chef. And I was ready to be (gently) encouraged to try (and enjoy) more foods. I’ve evolved, as has my eating. Who could have predicted when I was ten that I’d list Brussels sprouts as one of my very favorite foods? It makes me excited to see what my son will (one day) devour. Also, what a five-year old will and won’t eat can be very different than what second-grader eats. That no-eat list that only has avocado on it could get very long very quickly. I’m not saying it will, just saying it may.

6. Understanding love is not the same thing as like. I still don’t care for most creamy things. I don’t enjoy tofu. I am not a fan of nuts baked into things. Calamari continues to be a no-go for me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love to eat or that I can’t enjoy a bounteous meal or that I am not appreciative of every dish my love presents at the dinner table or of my opportunities to sample new fare. I think the fresh tuna maki wrapped in black rice at my favorite sushi joint is heavenly. And the simple brined roasted chicken the Not Boyfriend served last Wednesday with Greek salad was a plate full of comfort. Melt-in-my-mouth prosciutto and coffee-tinged porter microbrews and slices of heirloom tomatoes and toasted coconut and snappy basil and spicy radishes smeared with a bit of butter and herbed salt all make my tastebuds sing. I love these foods. I adore breakfasts out. I am delighted to linger over appetizers, shared entrees and a final cup of coffee and digestif. None of that needs to be marred by food I prefer not to eat.

7. Accepting that food should not be about obligation. We get plenty of messages about our bodies and diets— plenty of effed up, restrictive, false and harsh messages. I don’t want to add to that. Intuitive eating is a phenomenal concept. And it takes some of us longer to get there than others. Sure, a seven-year old may say all they want are those dino-shaped “chicken” nuggets (we don’t eat those in my house, either) and it is my job to guide that in a healthier direction. But I’m also not going to waste a bunch of energy and aggravation insisting that my child will eat every little thing.

8. No Happy Meals around here. Just because I am a picky eater and my kid has a narrowed list of foods he prefers, that doesn’t mean we are gorging on Doritos and nitrate-busting hot dogs every meal. Things are pretty healthy around here. We may not eat every veg at the farmers market, but we certainly get our fill of leafy greens. And if my son doesn’t care for broccoli, I will keep offering it, keep making it, keep requiring a few bites. But he will turn out just fine if most of his vegetable intake comes from carrots and plain lettuce.

Obviously, I have a mouth full to say on the subject of why being a picky eater doesn’t make me or my son unfortunate, ungrateful people who are missing out on life. And I get that the post on WSM was meant to provoke controversy, clicks, and comments. But let’s mind our own meals, shall we? Let’s save the concern for what our own kids are eating and not what’s on every other kid’s plate. If we made that pact, maybe the picky eaters could sit down with the ones who love every single food out there, and we could just enjoy the conversation and community at the dinner table.

Hey, even that kid in my grammar school who was digging in her nose and eating it in fourth grade turned out to be a healthy, thriving adult with kids and real job. She was super picky (ba-dum-dum) and she’s OK. Pretty sure the rest of us will be, too.

Have picky eaters at home? Or kids who eat everything? What have you learned from their eating styles?

This post originally appeared on Sassafrass Says So at Babble. 

Monday morning catch-up

Oh, the giant pile of email and teeth-brushing can wait. Here are ten things I absolutely must tell you before any of this first workday of the week slips by. 

1. I'm beside myself oohing and ahhing over these boys of summer, captured by 12 amazing mamas.
2. These summer wedges that you loved but are still waiting patiently in your online shopping cart? The sales have started and your wallet is telling you it's time to press "buy." Or is that just my wallet? Anyway, sales.
3. If you absolutely must be in the back-to-school mindset, prepare yourself with Kelly Wickham's wonderful tips for what to tell a teacher about your Special Snowflake.
4. My favorite room in my apartment is the bathroom, all marble and granite and giant Jacuzzi tub and slidey drawers. It was the first room the people who gutted this building redid and they blew the budget on it (I've seen the loos in other units in this building so I know it to be true). My own wonderful WC retreat is exactly why I love love loved reading about the to-die master bathroom reno over at Petit Elefant. The best part? The barn door. I kid not.
5. I want to wear this. On a day I remember not to put on black lacies on the bottom. (It's a problem.)
6. These are my very favorite new late-summer skinny jeans (I got ankle length). AND THEY WERE UNDER TEN BUCKS. Not kidding. They may not last until fall officially hits, so I am wearing them every damn day.
7. I want buckets of this to slather this all over my face. 
8. Everyone is getting these cord tacos for Christmas. Or whatever it is you celebrate before the New Year. (Maybe also for the New Year.)
9. I did a daring thing and tried Greek yogurt again. This is big, y'all. I have a thing about creamy textures (please leave it at that). But I got a giant box of it in the mail and I worked up some culinary courage and tried this little flip container with yogurt on one side and granola on the other (mostly because the packaging was so darn cute). Everyone: I liked it. A lot. Apparently, coconut and pineapple and ginger are a fine vehicle for creamy stuff I wouldn't otherwise touch. 
10. Something random about Bruce Jenner being a crap father.