Like many children, my grandson is finicky about food and there’s  nothing  more  tedious than Dylan on a day when he’s tired, especially if he doesn’t like the menu. I’m “old school,” and like my parents I lose patience with finicky children, especially since I have five of my own and always force them to eat  good food. 

Dylan’s mother,  my daughter Ariell, has much more patience than I do and has learned how to manipulate him to make him eat. Dylan’s preferred menu is chocolate, potato chips and pizza. I don’t mind if he has them for treats every once in a while but never as much as he would like. When he doesn’t get what he wants from me, he whines and wails, hoping that I’ll  give in to his whims.

He plucks all of  my nerves when he does that, and I fuss right back at him until I’m practically blue in the face. You’d think by now, at the age of  eight,  he’d have learned not to irritate me about food, but Dylan, who is very strong-willed,  is always determined to try and test me.

Ariell, who is much calmer than I am about her son’s fragile temper, skillfully distracts him by invoving him in projects to help her. Eventually, he forgets all about his whining and cooperates. I think her patience with her children is truly a special gift. Just the other day, she amazed me when I stopped by with some Mexican takeout. There was just enough for every one to snack on until she finished cooking dinner. But Dylan, who saw the bag from his favorite restaurant, had a sudden yen for steak burritos and got angry because I’d only brought  chips  and salsa,  the treat my budget could afford that day.

He insisted that I go back to the restaurant to appease  his craving. I tried to dissuade his tears by promising to make burritos for his sleepover at my house the next night. But to a hungry 8-year-old, an entire day is an unfathomable amount of time to have to wait for  a treat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw what was about to escalate into a full-blown tantrum and his wails grew louder as I pleaded and cajoled  him to try and enjoy his snack.  

Just as I was about to completely lose my patience, Ariell called him over to the stove to season the home fries that she was roasting. “Wash your hands, honey. I need your help,” she gently prodded. And just like that, Dlan switched gears, halted his tears mid- tantrum, seasoned the home fries and forgot all about that burrito.

Related posts:

1. Picky Eaters