Tales From the Chair, Chapter 4

Toddlers learn new monkey tricks quickly.

Such tricks, when performed in the presence of others, are invariably swooped on to be held up as triumphant and certain evidence of their future careers.

My boy's early obssession with lights clearly indicates that he is to be an electrician, like his grandad. His mean overarm throw indicates a future England spin bowler, his tower building skills make him the next Christopher Wren, and his demolition work means that Fred Dibnah's crown will not be cast down for long.

Actually, I lied about that last one. Fred Dibnah is utterly irreplaceable...

However, today's lunchtime battle, and its finely tuned endgame proved beyond doubt that he is to be a brilliant military strategist. He's got some hard work ahead of him, but I think that his early experience will stand him in good stead. Here's how he did it.

12:30:00 Observe and conclude that chicken dinner is below required standard

12:31:00 Decide on appropriate diversionary tactic

12:32:00 Empty entire cup of juice into dinner, and over table and floor

12:32:30 As enemy heads floorwards clutching ktichen roll, poke her in the eye

12:33:00 Operation 'Shock, and Ow!' successfully completed. You win, again.

High Chair Inferiority Complex

So, I was down at the Booby Group* yesterday afternoon, chatting with one of the other mums whose little boy is just a couple of months older than mine.

These mums are lovely, not pushy, competitive, or desperate to be 'yummy mummies', and it's ususally a great place to get advice from those who have been there already.

Still, I should have known better than to ask Exemplary Food Mum about her boy's eating habits.

Has she had ever had much trouble with H flinging his food across the room, turning the bowl over and shouting into it, that sort of thing, I asked her yesterday.

'No', she said, looking horrified. 'When he's had enough, he just puts his knife and fork together in the middle of his plate.'

'Knife and fork', I said, in despair. 'He eats with a knife and fork...?'

I stand in awe - my boy barely eats with his fingers, and spoons are just little plastic catapults for him to get a better aim with the porridge. Top of the dog's head = Bullseye!

*My local Breastfeeding Support Group, which I help to run.
** Having pinched the picture, it's probably only fair to link to this video. I am sure it is every bit as hilarious as they say.

Tales from The Chair, Chapter 3

Whilst there is no doubt in my mind that I will eventually win the War of The Chair, today I must concede defeat on the current battle; Eating With My Toddler.

The parenting books make it sound so simple.

If you regularly sit and share mealtimes with your toddler, they sagely advise, then he will quickly learn to feed himself, and surpass your expectations and impress your friends and family with his exquisite table manners.

It's not true.

The reailty is this; you need one hand on your plate to stop it being thrown on the floor, one hand on his bowl to stop it being thrown on the floor, a third hand to feed yourself, and a fourth to shovel his food into his mouth. Do you see the problem?

I surrender.

Tales from The Chair, Chapter 2

The boy is unwell, so I have relented on my easy food campaign a little and am making him a lovely, wholesome, slow-cooked beef stew. We're about even on the scores this week - I got him to eat his first freshly-cooked meal yesterday (cold roast chicken and penne with a tomato sauce and mixed veg), but he equalised by chucking a spoonful of the red stuff up the sofa. Which isn't leather, and doesn't wipe clean. His aim is improving in both accuracy and distance now, and as it's too cold and wet to feed him in the garden where I could just hose everything down, I think I might be in for a very messy winter.

What is it about the smell of some beef and onions being chucked in a pan to brown that renders him incapable of having his ususal 2 hour lunchtime nap? He's dosed up to the eyeballs on Medised, so it beats me how he's able to keep his eyes open. But somehow, the smell of beef and onions is doing it's trick and he's wide awake, jumping and shouting, shouting and jumping.

Tales from The Chair, Chapter 1

Every day, at least once, and sometimes up to three times, I am obliged to play the game we call The Chair.

I have a 14 month old son. I think you know where I'm going with this...

Three times a day, between 7am and 6pm, he gets strapped into his chair to face his opponent, who is armed with a bowl of food, a few spoons, possibly a fork, a drink, some fruit or a yoghurt and a big pack of wipes. Then the game commences. It normally ends when one or the other of us starts crying.

I'm lucky - my boy isn't really all that bad. He regularly eats good quantities of healthy food, so long as it is food that he likes. Unfortunately, 'what he likes' tends to be lovingly prepared, slow-cooked stews; hearty, wholesome soups, basically anything that takes the entire fucking afternoon to pre-cook and freeze.

Let's have a look at what he won't eat shall we. What do you think all of these ingredients have in common?

Ham, cheese, eggs (poached, boiled, scrambled), baked potato, baked beans, cream cheese, cucumber, avocado, pasta in tomato sauce, fish fingers, tomato, prawns, carrot sticks, olives, rice.

10 points if you answered 'they are all things that fall into the category 'Nutritious, Quick, and Easy to Prepare' of course!'

My strategy for October's round of The Chair must involve effecting some reduction in the pre-cooked hot mush . I have a book on order called 'Finger Food' which I really hope will strengthen my game. I will keep you posted.