From the moment you first puree a batch of carrots and try to cram a miserable spoonful into a wriggling, uninterested baby, existential questions like "What is the meaning of life?" and "How will the universe end?" are replaced by much more probing and pressing ones, like: "What am I going to make for supper?" and "How will I get them to eat their veggies?".
Artistry, some say, is the key. Arrange a varied assortment of steamed or raw veggies to look like a face or a sun or Magritte's The Son of Man or whatever. Kids will be charmed by this food "tableau" and not only polish off their plates but even ask for more!
Thus, with high hopes, I tried this method with Big M when she was about a year-old. She looked at her plate, charmed by my talent, then turned huge sad, eyes to me when I urged her to dig in. She was horrified at having to deface my work of art by actually EATING it. No, she insisted, let's keep it right here so we can enjoy looking at it for a long, long time. Funnily enough, she had no qualms in demolishing the stack of heart-shaped pancakes I whipped up for Valentine's Day (only thing left on her plate that time were the fresh berries: they were delicious, she had no doubt, but unfortunately, she just wasn't hungry anymore.).
Trickery, others say, is the way to go. Why not try to hide some mashed squash in a grilled cheese sandwich? It's the same color as the cheese and kids will happily gobble up this high in vitamins vegetable without ever being the wiser.
I dutifully peeled, boiled and mashed some squash, before adding it to what would have been an otherwise easy lunch to make. Gleefully expectant, I served it to my family. Yeah. Even my husband, who is by no means a picky eater, wouldn't touch his soggy, weird smelling, weird tasting sandwich. It was a big hit with the dog, though, who can now see in the dark with all the vitamin A she ingested that day.
Still others rely on bribery, threats, emotional blackmail or good old-fashioned begging and crying to get their mulish children to at least TRY the broccoli!
I used to be one of this latter group: promising lavish desserts, promising to withhold any kind of dessert, promising to withhold my love or even weeping like an infant at all my wasted energy (But you had a bite of the cauliflower "mashed potatoes" last time I made it, why won't you even let me put some on your plate this time? For the love of God, why, why, WHY? Insert uncontrollable sobbing here.). Nothing doing. These tactics merely resulted in pitying looks being thrown my way by my elseways unmoved children or, sometimes, a kind pat on the back, but never, ever, EVER with an actual bite of healthy, fiber-rich fruit of the earth passing their lips.
Abdication, I now know, is the answer. With minimum effort and just a little reinterpretation on my part, my children's fruit and vegetable requirements are now filled daily, like so:
You say daddy fed you a bag of potato chips in the car to keep you quiet? Excellent. One vegetable serving done.
Or
You had a strawberry flavored Lifesaver you found between the couch cushions? Just wait here while mommy checks off one of your servings of fruit for the day.
My husband and I have now gone back to enjoying healthy, delicious salads and sides not elaborately disguised or shaped like Disney characters and my mental health is in much better shape.
Of course, I've never mentioned my new strategy to any of the kids' health-care professionals nor to my mother-in-law, for that matter. For them, I've invented another brilliant approach: shameless lying.
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