“Yes,” I replied, fully aware it might ruin her dinner. “You can have as many as you want.”
The next day, I decided against sending her to day camp. Instead, I let her lounge on the couch in her pajamas, indulging in her favorite snacks while binge-watching Netflix. I termed it a mental health day. I allowed her to stay home once more, despite my work-from-home schedule and the mountain of tasks awaiting my attention. In recent weeks, I had become engrossed in work and writing, but when I felt low, I found solace in movies and pizza. Why shouldn’t she have the same opportunity?
A couple of years back, I stumbled upon an intriguing article questioning why we often fail to extend the same respect to our children as we do to our partners. One frazzled day—the kind where you’ve reached your limit and the “don’t give me that look, or it’s straight to bed” is on the tip of your tongue—I envisioned how I must appear while issuing such commands. I’d never talk to a friend, partner, or any other adult that way. So why did I speak to my daughter like that?
This realization wasn’t about treating her like an adult; it was about affording her the same respect I offer other individuals. It wasn’t merely about the golden rule of treating others how I want to be treated, though it has some merit. Ultimately, I aspired to be a more pleasant person to coexist with.
My daughter is notoriously picky when it comes to food—she has specific preferences for types, brands, sizes, and textures. This has led to considerable frustration and embarrassment on my part, particularly during dinner invitations. I’ve navigated the various stages of parenting a picky eater, from desperation and bargaining to outright bribery. I’ve pressured her to take bites and try foods that made her gag, and I even attempted to turn her thumb green while gardening. She watches me (and her baby sister) eat a variety of greens daily, so I know it’s not an environmental issue. She simply has an undeniable sweet tooth, and yes, I do my best to limit it.
Over the past few weeks, while she was away, my eating habits regressed. Without the need to prepare meals and ensure she consumed something nutritious, I found myself having breakfast at lunchtime and relying heavily on coffee. By early evening, I was often left feeling faint from hunger, scrambling for whatever quick meal I could find. I gravitated towards easy options, often neglecting what I truly wanted to eat.
Today, I ventured out for a big grocery haul, and Mia, of course, requested her usual junk food, which I hadn’t bought in months. I returned home with more fruits and fewer snacks. No more yogurt tubes; now it’s all about cups with wholesome ingredients. For a while, I limited purchases to items with ingredients she could read. But as I wandered through the aisles today, I caught myself thinking, “No, that doesn’t sound appealing,” or “I don’t like that kind,” or simply, “Ew!” Why couldn’t I extend the same respect to my child’s preferences?
So, I decided to compromise. I bought a few of her favorite junk food crackers, the ones I used to stock up on out of sheer desperation for her to consume calories. I even grabbed a small box of Lucky Charms at her request. Once home, while we unpacked groceries and snacked on an array of opened items—fruit, chips, and crackers—I said, “If you’re hungry, I can whip something up for you.”
“I’m not hungry. I just want to snack,” she replied.
“Me too. I guess we both prefer snacking on what we enjoy.”
And thus, we struck a deal.
I designated a lower cupboard for her snacks, complete with cups and bowls, and set aside part of the fridge just for her. We discussed it, and I decided to see how it played out. As long as she was making healthy choices and not reaching for ice cream bars on an empty stomach, she would have the freedom to explore her appetite. No pressure to finish everything on her plate or to earn dessert through clean plates.
So far, this approach has proven successful. I’ve released myself from the obligation of a formal sit-down meal where we pass around dishes. My daughter now meanders into the kitchen like I do, casually snacking on yogurt, cheese, fruit, or peanut butter. It’s not quite as whimsical as Cher’s character in “Mermaids,” but it’s pretty close, and I’m completely okay with it.
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In summary, embracing flexibility in parenting can lead to a more harmonious home life. Allowing children the freedom to choose their snacks, while still guiding them towards healthy options, fosters respect and understanding in the parent-child dynamic.
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