“Juice”–or more accurately, “ju”–was one of Sam’s first words. I’d avoided giving him any juice at all until he suffered one particularly bad bout of constipation and the pediatrician recommended an ounce or two of diluted apple juice to get things moving.
And thus began his obsession with ju.
The kid would drink juice all day, everyday, if I let him. I don’t. Compared to fruit, juice doesn’t have a whole lot going for it. And since Sam devours fruit, he doesn’t need it. So I’ve settled on a compromise: a half cup of diluted orange juice in the morning with breakfast–and that’s it.
Today I have a guest post about juice on LittleStomaks, a great blog devoted to toddler nutrition. I answer the question, “Is giving juice to my kids okay as long as it’s 100% fruit juice?” You can read it here.
Photo by Leonid Mamchenkov
My three-step process for controlling Easter candy chaos. Step One: Pack it away in an opaque container.
I made a somewhat crazy promise to myself on Easter Sunday. As with any crazy promise that you make to yourself–but that you aren’t entirely sure you’ll be able to keep–it’s best that you announce it, loudly and repeatedly, in front of others.
“I’m not going to eat ANY of Henry and Sam’s Easter candy!” I proclaimed to my entire family.
“Everything in moderation” may be the party line in dietetics, but I’ve talked with enough people about their trouble foods—and waged wars with my own—to know it’s not always that simple. With some foods, you just shouldn’t even start.
Step Two: Place it up high and out of reach.
For me, that very broad category definitely includes jelly beans, (stale) Peeps, and large blocks of milk chocolate. After Henry and Sam made the rounds to the grandparents’ houses, we had exactly six Easter baskets full of candy. And since they’re still too little to remember precisely how large their stash was–and notice if, say, their chocolate dump truck suddenly drove away–it’s way too tempting to dip into it.
I’m happy to report that three days in, not a single peanut butter egg has passed my lips. Think this might work for you? Make your own vow to de-Creme Egg your diet right now.
Step 3: Put whatever doesn't fit into a bag and make your spouse take it to his workplace.
And don’t worry if you’ve already downed an Easter basket’s worth of sugar. My promise–technically “I’m not going to eat ANY MORE of Henry and Sam’s Easter candy!” –was made in the throes of a Brach’s-induced high blood sugar headache.