Our Growing Boy

I am loving the challenge of keeping Ethan's belly full these days.  I think it's a combination of a growth spurt that just won't quit and having left the pickys behind when he turned five...whatever it is, this boy is insatiable.  I am astounded by the amount of food he can throw back, and find myself asking at least a couple times each day, "You can't still be hungry, can you?!".  Having been through frustrating periods where one or both of my children met each meal that I had lovingly prepared with a turned-up nose, I am by no means wanting to brag about what stellar eaters I have, nor do I take any credit for this recent development.  But it sure is enjoyable and worthy of remark in our "baby book".  

Although I have always been a follower of the "this is what we're eating, take it or leave it" approach to feeding children, I must admit that it is very satisfying when they do, in fact, take it.  And I'm not ashamed to admit that (genuine) compliments to the chef go a long way towards instilling goodwill in the Stockwell household.  Last night, after his third helping of a simple but yummy meal, Ethan said "This is sooo good - gooder than popsicles!" (we'll have to work on that grammar...).  And when I made carrot soup awhile back, Ethan told me I made the best soup in the whole world, then corrected himself, saying it was actually "the best soup in the whole universe".  As antiquated as it may be, and despite how far we women have come away from the kitchen, I can't deny that at least a tiny bit of my self-worth as a mother is tied to providing a healthy, well-balanced, and satisfying meal for my family.  I don't beat myself up over the misses (of which there are many - ask Ben about the corned beef and cabbage flop earlier this week), but I do pat myself on the back when I hit a winner.  And I think that's okay.  Just as we celebrate our accomplishments outside the home, I don't think we should be ashamed to say that we derive pleasure from feeding our kids well.  Or cleaning our house well (which, anyone who knows me will tell you, I do not).  Or engaging in whatever domestic pursuits that we enjoy and at which we feel skilled.  But I digress into a discussion for another day (or another blog)...

This post was really meant to be about my growing boy and how I fear that we have begun the steady climb towards adolescence, when I will be making daily trips to the supermarket for four gallons of milk and still won't be keeping up.  When I loaded four gallons (which now last us about a week) into my cart a couple weeks ago, a stranger said to me (and I was alone, mind you), "Let me guess - do you have boys?".  Or maybe that was a reflection of what I was wearing...(I have another theory about moms of boys and their sense of style.)

One last little tidbit before I go help myself to a big bowl of ice cream that will otherwise be devoured by my hungry hippos.  Tonight, after a full dinner and two bowls of yogurt with strawberries, Ethan insists he is still hungry and keeps asking "What can I eat?".  The dishes are all cleaned up, the food's put away, the kitchen is closed in my opinion.  But after insisting that he will die of starvation if I don't feed him something more, I relent and offer Ethan one choice and once choice only: the leftover zucchini from dinner.  I am betting he'll pass that up and realize he has actually had plenty to eat.  But no, he jumps at the opportunity to clean up the remaining, now cold and rather unappetizing zucchini.  I tell him that Daddy will be disappointed that he no longer has leftovers for tomorrow and Ethan replies "But Daddy isn't growing anymore!".  Fair point, little man.  You can finish the zucchini anytime.  (Sorry Ben!)

Following the recipe for "fruit nachos" in High Five

Enjoying their own little bit of domestic divahood