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flying (GFCF) fruit loops February 19, 2010

Posted by caizooka in autism, autism parenting, gfcf.
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The title says it all. My kids, when not gastronomically appeased, like to throw their food, forks, spoons, and plates at me. Why? This is a good question. O does it because he is O. E does it because O does it and it gets a rise out of me. Thank GOD that J and Peter don’t do it. That would be a problem! Seriously, after putting some energy and thought into this whole GFCF diet, preparing meals has been a challenge.  A rewarding one when they are being consumed, gratefully or not. But, when they are being hurled at me, I take offense.

I have pride in the fact that Julian is such a good eater. He eats a variety of well cultured, very diversified cuisines. He’s picky, but not in a bad way. He has good tastes in food and when he asks me to make him something above and beyond to appease his palette, I will gladly comply. Kinda makes me happy that he’s been paying attention all of these years to the extra effort to provide him a variety of foods and flavors. When I make a pretty well thought out, balanced meal for O that is wholly GFCF AND delicious looking and tasting, and he chucks it at me across the kitchen without even trying it first, followed by his fork, I’m not only sad, but, I’m worried. He demands a hot dog. Seriously?! I’ve made this lovely meal for you and you throw it at me, tell me that you hate me, hurl your fork at me and then demand the most disgusting food on the planet?!! This mom couldn’t say yes to that. Should I have? I have an issue about being a short order cook to my offspring. That is the lowest of the low in my world. Do I do it still? Yes, I do. Am I proud? No, it’s sad. Until our lovely O came into our family, I knew not of how some people are just born like this. I swear that I thought that given a lump of clay, I could form that very lump into whom I wanted. Woah, was I ever wrong. Never been more wrong. I’ve found and am finding each and every day that that was the stupidest assumption that I have ever made. But, tonight, I didn’t give into the hotdog craving of my dearest O. I’ve gotta be consistent. No short order cook here. Sorry, dudes.

O is who he is. J is who he is. E is who he is. I accept that I have some control in guiding them, hopefully showing them some manners. Hopefully they won’t throw plates of food at people that they love the rest of their lives. It’s my hope and prayer that they don’t.

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