The DHX: The Doughtie Houses Exchange

By Jill Davis Doughtie

“Psychoanalysts have revealed some of the ways in which the tales represent our secret fears and preoccupations - from being devoured to having a mother or stepmother who either starves you or stuffs you with food in order to eat you up.” — A.S. Byatt, “Happily Ever After“

There’s something about feeding and being fed that has do with with more than just food.

I was researching mothers and stepmothers in fairy tales when I came across this quote from A.S. Byatt. Of course, I thought! Maybe there’s more to our family push and pull over food than food.

The same dish can feel like home to one set of people and overwhelmingly alien to another set. Absorbing a strange new person into the household is stressful by itself. Being pressured to eat their alien food on top of it? That’s a whole different level of stress. It might even go so far as to feel like invasion and conquest to a kid. It’s intimate. It goes into their mouths, sets off pleasure or disgust taste sensations, and then they’re supposed to swallow it.

I grew up in a family where my mom made food we liked most of the time. (And with four kids, that’s a challenge!) We were expected to try new things on a fairly regular basis, though. We were expected eat vegetables every day. We were supposed to finish what was on our plates most of the time. We were allowed to list a few foods we just plain wouldn’t eat and make ourselves something else for dinner instead if those foods appeared on the family menu. But most of the time, it wasn’t a problem. That’s where I came from food-wise, and that’s what I grew up thinking was normal.

I came into a family where trying new things was invited, but not pushed. Where the kids’ appetites and interests led what they ate, or didn’t.

That was pretty alien for me.

To them, of course, I was the alien. And my food was alien! My comfort food was alien. And my ideas about how much food should be eaten, and when, and what kinds — those were alien, too. I started to realize that if I pushed them, I might be pushing something more. I might be inadvertently pushing against the culture and the taste language of home for them — and their sense of their own boundaries — their feeling of control over something as basic and intimate as the pleasure or disgust sensations in their mouths.

I don’t want to starve or stuff them like a wicked fairy tale woman. I don’t want to breed resentment. And I do understand and respect the parenting approach — including to food — that G and Kathy established before I was here. Even though it’s not always the way that feels most like home to me.

It’s a delicate balance. And it still teeters a lot. I’m trying to help with the rowing, but without rocking the boat too hard.

What we do now is usually a combination of strategies. Sometimes I make two different meals for adults and kids. Sometimes G cooks. Sometimes I make something new that I hope the kids will like. When I get lucky and stumble across something they gobble up, I save that recipe and make it again and again. (So far, I only have about four of these, though.) Sometimes I make one of these four safe meals that I know I everyone likes. Sometimes one of the kids will make a special kid meal and the other one will clean up. Sometimes we all eat kid-friendly pre-made frozen food. Sometimes I ask the kids what kinds of vegetables they want for dinner before I go to the store. Sometimes we don’t eat vegetables at all. Sometimes a kid will decide to take a wild leap. One kid eats sushi and pesto now. The other tried pesto recently and pronounced it okay.

They still won’t eat chocolate ice cream, though. Oh well.

Wait a minute. Scratch that. I think what I really meant to say was, “MwahahahaHA! More for me and my alien spoon.”