French Kids Eat Everything Karen Billon (romance novel chinese novels txt) 📖

“Yes,” said Margot, resigned, “he is crying a lot. And we are still two hours away from his next feeding.” I was shocked into silence. At the same age, Sophie and Claire were breast-fed on demand. That meant feeding, in some cases, every hour or two, particularly when they “cluster fed” in the evenings. If I’d had a parenting motto, it would have been: a hungry baby is an unhappy baby. And the easiest way to make the baby happy was, of course, to feed her. But that is clearly not how Margot approached things. Not knowing what to say, I feebly congratulated her and quickly hung up the phone, feeling shocked at her treatment of her baby, which seemed unbelievably cruel to me. But our French family and friends didn’t see it that way. From their perspective, training the baby in a healthy food schedule starts at birth. And the earlier kids learn that parents, not children, decide when it is time to eat, the easier it is for everyone. So a routine is imposed right from the start. I saw this up close when my sister-in-law and I had our second children only three months apart. We were both breast-feeding for the first few months. But whereas Anouk was fed at strict three-hour intervals (not a minute too early!), Claire ate on demand—which meant pretty much all the time. As mothers, we regarded each other with mutual incomprehension. I’m sure she was thinking (as I was): How can she do that?

But Véronique’s children were now happy and healthy (as was Thomas). In fact, most of the kids around us were happy and healthy. This, more than anything, was what made me willing to try snacking the French way. If they can do it, I thought, why can’t we? Plus, it was getting to the point where I was embarrassed to let my in-laws sit in our crumb-filled car. So, by late March, Philippe and I decided to initiate the next phase of The Plan. To maintain my enthusiasm (just in case I was tempted to backslide), I decided to remind myself of the benefits of scheduling meals and limiting snacks. With Philippe’s help, I drew up a list:

• No more negotiating. I wouldn’t have to negotiate and argue about whether or not it was snacktime.

• No emotional eating. It would be easier to follow some of the other French Food Rules—like the rule about not using food as a pacifier or a distraction. This would help my kids avoid developing emotional attachments to eating—they wouldn’t learn to use food as a way to kill time or fill the void.

• Less mental stress: I wouldn’t have to be calculating what they ate or when they ate or worrying about whether they’d be hungry enough to eat at mealtime.

• Time saved: I wouldn’t be constantly checking and replenishing our snack stores in multiple locations (bag, stroller, car). The routine would simplify my life.

• Money saved: Our grocery bills would drop, as we substituted fresh food for prepackaged, processed foods.

• Better nutrition. Less snacking meant more “real food.”

• Less temptation for me to snack. Nibbling on whatever the kids were eating had become a habit, and I often finished their leftover snacks. If they weren’t snacking, I’d be much less likely to snack as well.

This was, after I’d finished writing it up, a pretty impressive list. I realized, though, that these benefits would take a while to sink in. We would go through a transition period until the kids settled into their new routine. Their stomachs would adjust: they’d start eating more at mealtimes and not feeling hungry at other times. But it would take a while—and I didn’t know how long.

To ease the transition, I decided, I’d have to get the kids involved. I pulled out the cookbooks that Virginie had lent us. Each of them had special sections dedicated to snacks. Letting the kids plan the menu for the goûter for the week might soften the blow of no longer snacking on demand. And three weeks was probably about the right length of time to “transition” into our new routine.

I waited for a rainy day when Marie was over for a play date, as I knew she was a more adventurous eater than either Sophie or Claire.

“We’re going to decide on some fun snack menus,” I gaily announced, hoping I sounded convincing.

“Each of you gets to plan the snack menu for a whole week. Won’t that be fun?” I continued, hoping that the social-marketing skills I’d learned would come through.

“Marie, why don’t you go first? Extra points for really unusual snacks!” I encouraged them.

Taping three pieces of paper to the kitchen table, I divided each into seven rows, labeled with days of the week. The older girls happily paged through the books, and “wrote out” their menus (which were more or less decipherable), decorating the pages with elaborate five-year-old flourishes. Claire happily scribbled alongside them. We had only three rules: you can’t eat the same thing for goûter more than once per week; vegetables and fruits have to alternate with “sweet treats”; and chocolate can feature on the menu only once per week. Eventually, I hoped to move to the point where only fruit and vegetables were eaten for snacks. But I knew we couldn’t get there right away.

The results of our snack-menu planning, proudly taped on the kitchen walls, were presented to Philippe later that evening. The kids each took turns explaining their choices. My strategy appeared to have worked.

Some fairly quirky choices by Marie, like nectar de pomme aux épices (spicy apple nectar), reappeared on Sophie’s menu. For sweet treats, the girls chose baked apples and crêpes (one of the first French dishes I’d mastered—but only because I could buy the crêpes ready-made at the local market). For the vegetable dishes, the girls made some great choices, like cucumbers and yogurt dip. And I was pleasantly surprised by their “favorite” choices: carrots, cherry tomatoes, even