Dry Salmon, Raw Carrots, Burned Rice, and Edamame Beans

No, that isn't the title of Laurie Berkener's latest children's song. Although, my two would be the first to learn the words and start singing it in the tub.I am embarrassed to say this is what I served my family for dinner tonight. It was not one of our better meals. The salmon would have been wonderful, but the griller was distracted by a girl taunting her brother and got caught up in refereeing an argument. The remaining mediocrities were my doing, and I have no excuses other than bad meals happen.

The remarkable thing about this dinner, however, is that Ian ate almost every bite on his plate. At first he scoffed at the salmon; he always does. But lately, he has been willing to take a bite or two. This time, he ate five bites and admitted that it wasn't bad. He ate an entire baby carrot, which normally he won't touch unless it is cooked. He even ate several spoonfuls of rice, his only comment being, "it's crunchy." Edamame Beans are a favorite no matter how they turn out because they are fun to pop open and make a big pile on the plate. He loves them.

For a boy whose favorite and most frequent meal consists of waffles and turkey bacon, this was quite a jump. Certain things must be prepared certain ways, and if they aren't cooked to his preferred specifications, there is usually no way he is going to consume them. Even more surprising is that a child with the typical taste sensitivities of most kids on the autism spectrum, willingly - and without argument - ate foods he would normally refuse.

I hope this means many things. First, I hope Ian is becoming more flexible in his food choices. There is a good possibility that this is true, because he is becoming more willing to buy his lunch at school every week. When I fix new things at home, his hesitance to try them is more easily worn down by our rule that he must try one bite.

Second, I hope Ian is beginning to realize that his mom is a good cook and isn't going to feed him something terrible tasting or bad for him; nor would I force him to eat something he just couldn't stomach. Even though I long for the days when I could put any healthy food in front of Ian and watch him enjoy every morsel, it seems his maturity is going to get him back to that point again. . .someday.

And third, I hope this means the beginning of the end of the food battle. We have tried not to make it one, but when your child's brain is starving and you can't convince him that he must eat, eating becomes a war of wills whether you want it to or not. Perhaps he has realized that he thinks more clearly and feels better when he eats regularly. He'll never express it in those terms, but in the back of my mind I think that is at least some of the impetus for the change.

I know I say this a lot, but each day I see tiny changes in him that make me so proud of how hard he works to make it through the day and to understand the weird people he lives with. Earlier this week he realized how important it is to have a good friend, and that sometimes friends hurt each other's feelings. The hardest part is not necessarily the act that caused the argument. It is admitting that you both made a mistake and apologizing to each other. And then things go on, just like they did before. Maybe a little better.


Earlier today he rode his scooter while we walked the dog for half an hour. Occasionally, he would stop and rest or have Steve or me push him for a few feet. But he went farther than ever before and never complained about how hard it was or how tired he was getting. Not long ago he would have given up after a couple of blocks. today he went almost a mile.

As each new realization hits Ian, whether it be an expansion of his dietary intake, the deepening of his ties to people outside our home, or accomplishing something difficult, his face softens just a little. Old anxieties get pushed a little further away. New ones, of course, will appear in time, but I feel confident in his ability to make it through these challenges and feel proud of himself when he does.