Tag: picky eating

Every Swear Word Bursting From My Heart With Love


Here he is with the bacon wrapped chicken skewers he and his dad made together. He doesn’t let me take a lot of pictures of him lately but I think he was a little proud of these.

There’s a revolution going on in this house called: TEENAGER. It’s pretty fucking epic and wonderful. I have no idea what awful hormonal dark magic things might possibly be waiting for us around the bend and I’m not going sit around worrying about it. Not right now. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.* Max decided to cut his hair a couple of weeks ago, grew another half inch, and today he prepared some bacon-wrapped chicken kabobs with his dad for the grill and participated in his first BBQ. I made vegetable kabobs with a satay sauce and he tried summer squash and red pepper dipped in the sauce. He didn’t like the squash but kind of liked the red pepper.

But I didn’t even ask him to try them. He wanted to try the motherfucking*** vegetables of his own volition.


I’m not a very sentimental mom in general. I’ve never been blind to my son’s challenges and how it impacts other people and his own development. He was most honestly and truly a special needs kid. And I think we still may experience some tough shifts as he matures. But I’ve also never withheld honest pride or failed to celebrate the small steps that have brought him from a self harming and socially difficult place to the person he is becoming.

Tonight he sat with us at the table (with dirty dishes of things he didn’t eat!) and ate with us and then he sat and chatted for a little while without imposing his own topic on the whole group – much. At least – not in that vice-grip way he has of bulldozing any conversation he doesn’t find completely engaging he has had for ages. He listened a little bit. We count these things because they matter.


Today was horribly and uncomfortably hot for me but the evening was filled with close friends, my mom, and my son all gathering around a table and eating good food and feeling connected and cared for and enjoying each others’ company.

I know what happens when I notice that my life is perfect – it falls spectacularly apart. So it’s a good thing I’m struggling so hard with my writing and carving out a career as a novelist for myself. If I’m not struggling, the universe is plotting how it can trip me with a thread so I fall in the alligator-infested swamp with a bunch of motherfucking apathetic canoeing slow-eyed masochists the chance to beat me down with their oars.

There are a thousand things that can go wrong right now. Two minutes from now. I’ve become so superstitious between experience and mental illness that I’m ridiculously cautious about saying:

I’m happy. Right now. This minute. Perfect. Tonight was perfect.

Go ahead and find out how digestible those alligators find my foul mouth. My gristle is ready for those toothy clowns.


*That’s right motherfucker! This middle aged anxiety disorder has got her disorder by the throat!**

**Just kidding, anxiety, no need to give me a heart attack tomorrow morning.

***All these “motherfucker”s are of a joyous nature but so emphatic that no other expression will do. I think most of you who have been following the Max adventures long enough will forgive for all the bombs tonight. ?

Someday This Will Be Funny, Right?


Max and Philip have been sick for over 9 days.  I don’t know about Philip, but Max has influenza.  Fluctuating fever, chills, ache, congestion quickly followed by a back-bruising cough that has resulted in small vomit.  My boys have been so sick.  I have been swallowing obscenely huge barnyard flavored multi-vitamins and drunk elderberry syrup for a week in hopes of staving off infection.  I have been teetering on the brink but am still standing.  But today I gave in and took Max to the doctor.  Even though I’m trying so hard not to spend money because we’re on the verge of dire financial strain.  A $30 co-pay isn’t awful, but it’s hardly cheap.

The doctor heard the customary wheeze of pneumonia but NOT the crackling sound of breathing.  She is on the fence about whether he has bronchitis or pneumonia.  She’s erring on the cautious side and has prescribed antibiotics and codeine cough syrup.  Another $20.  I hate having to count dollars in my head all week.

While we were seeing the doctor we discussed some other issues such as his terrible seasonal allergies that she says we have got to get under control because the inside of his nose is amazingly angry looking.  I started to tell her about the progress Max has been making with his food issues – the fact that he’s trying so many new things.  I wanted her to know how far he has come in opening up to new flavors and textures because I am still stinging from the lecture we received during the last visit about his terrible diet and the insinuation that Max is just a spoiled kid being allowed to eat whatever junk he wants.

Which gave her the irresistible opportunity to lecture us about his diet yet again.  She accused me of “enabling” Max’s picky eating.  I almost felt sick to my stomach hearing her say it.  I felt like screaming – something inside me is going to crack open in frustration – my heart can’t take too much more of this assumption that if most humans are a certain way that ALL humans are the same way.  I am proof against this.

A Few Days Later

Two days on antibiotics and Max was doing substantially better with his convulsive violent coughing reduced substantially.  This confirms that he had pneumonia, not bronchitis.  It is very unusual for bronchitis to be bacterial which means that taking antibiotics wouldn’t improve his condition and improvement would be slower.

Meanwhile – my dog is acting weird.  I think something is going on with her but I can’t take her to the vet again until next payday.  So we’ll see.

Lots going on around here.  I pickled 30 pints of jalapeno peppers.  I cleaned my office.  Faced my unface-able mail pile of bills and statements.  I finished loading up all my non-anonymous greeting cards into my Etsy shop and put my shop in the sidebar of both my blogs.  No writing this week.  I would really like to get back to some writing.  But it has become clear that while Philip got a big raise that theoretically should allow me to stay home with smart budgeting – it may not actually be true.  They take a lot more out of his checks than I thought they would and our rent is about to skyrocket.  So it seems I need to actually make strong efforts to sell my stuff on Etsy or get a part time job.  Obviously I’m hoping my shop will get more active.  Clearly I need to make more things to put in it.

On the book front – Philip is editing it right now and my friend Sharon is finishing up the painting for the cover.  Philip is going to do the formatting to make it available on the most popular e-readers and then in a print on demand format so that people can buy a hard copy if they want.  We’re aiming to have the book available for sale by the end of this month.

I am worldly enough to realize that I’ll be lucky if I make $5 in sales on my novel.  But I still believe in myself.  I believe my book is good enough to develop a fan-base and do reasonably well if enough people give it a chance and spread the word.  I’m saying that I don’t care how hard it is to make more than a few pennies as a self published author, some authors do well and I intend to be one of them.

And if I don’t end up being one of them?  I’m not going to entertain that thought at all.

Yesterday I read a great interview with Anne Rice and her son Christopher in Writer’s Digest.  My favorite thing that she says is that there’s no right or wrong way to write books or be a writer.  I also love that she said her greatest struggle is finding the voice in each novel – the point of view.  That’s one of my biggest struggles too.  Figuring out whether your story should be in first or third or a combination or third limited or third omniscient – so hard for me.

She also says that her biggest advice to writers is to write the books they want to read.  I’ve heard some people say this isn’t totally the best approach.  But I believe it is.  If you don’t want to read classic literature – why would you try to write it?  I think some people try writing books they don’t necessarily want to read because they think it’s the only way they’ll be taken seriously as a writer.  I say screw that.  I know what books I’m always looking for and can’t find – that’s what I endeavor to write.  And it isn’t classic literature.  I want to write quality suspense novels.  Not mysteries and not thrillers.  Mysteries need carefully crafted clues and structure and detectives.  I love reading mysteries but I don’t want to write them.  And thrillers are generally political, legal, or full of spies with lots of action.  I want to write suspense novels.  Suspense burns more slowly and quietly than thrillers, generally.  I like an insidious growing tension and fear.

It’s time I took a shower and got something useful done.  I think, in fact, it’s time for me to reread the first chapter of the second CandG book and start working on the second.

Itching to Get Back to Fiction

hospital pomegranates

Already it’s been days since my last post.  It’s obviously difficult for me to get back to my daily meditative thinking (AKA – sloppy brain spill).

I am pretty depressed right now.  My anxiety is under control because I upped my meds and it’s working but I need to up my depression meds too so I have to make an appointment to see my psychiatrist, which I’ll do, but which just sounds like so much work (definite sign of depression – total inertia)

I’ve been having some bad nightmares with some good bits in them.  cinematic tangled stories with interesting characters and predicaments.  But violent and unsettling and brain-sticky.  The thing that makes me not mind right now is that I’ve been waking up with the urge to dig myself back into fiction.  I haven’t really had the chance between my inertia and all the little things I have to do every day.  But that’s such a lousy cop-out because I know if I could drag my sorry ass out of bed at six in the morning I could get some writing in.  In the evenings I am most likely to get maudlin and writing in that state is generally valueless.  It may have worked for eighteenth century poets but all it does for me is make me unattractively melodramatic.

Last night’s nightmare was about one thing and then turned into preparing for dirty guerrilla warfare.  Getting hideouts ready and my job was to find as many kitchen knives as I could to give to everyone for defense and knowing that it would be dreadfully inadequate.  I’ve already forgotten most of the nightmare/dream.  What sticks is not describable.  It’s amorphous but wanting expression.  I hate that.

The biggest news on the home front is that my mom is now off of her wound-vac and off of her antibiotics!  She’s making fantastic progress and getting stronger every day.

School starts for Max in three weeks.  Poor kid.  Poor me.  The stress of dealing with him in PE will resume and that of too much homework as well.  Boooo!

Biggest news on the Max front is that he tried sushi and loved it!  His favorite things he tried were some kind of raw fish in a sauce and the cucumber salad but he also tried and liked a tuna roll.  So he ate rice for the first time since I tried to make him eat it as a baby.  He REFUSED, categorically, to ever put that shit in his mouth.  So – that’s kind of huge.  Plus he’s now a big fan of sourdough  bread with butter.  I count this as a little victory because in the past he’s not liked sourdough – it’s an indication that his tastes are broadening even though he still doesn’t like most produce.  Sigh.  I guess I’m going to have to learn to prepare sushi at home because I know I can’t afford for us to have a big sushi habit as a family.  (I hate sushi – but love tempura.)

It’s time to crawl through the meager job listings of jobs I would actually like to have.  Keep your fingers crossed for me that I find something good soon or I will be forced to apply to Joanne’s Fabrics.