Since I started this project in August, there have been 1,000 visits to Sandwich Parenting as well as 100 listens to the podcasts. Thanks everyone for your support!
Doing this has been very healing. To be honest, I just hope that I don’t do my normal ‘thing’ where I celebrate a milestone and then get stuck on a plateau. It’s a self-sabotaging coping mechanism I think do because I fear success and the challenges that come with expectations. Working on it, working on it.
Random distracting thought (another coping mechanism) to the rescue…
By the way, should I change this site to “Fried Rice Parenting”?
Sandwiches are so Western, and I am Chinese. You take what you have in the house, chop it up, fry it all up, and you get a unique wok of fried rice each time. What do you think?
(I have a soft spot for fried rice. It’s the one thing my kids will eat, pretty much no matter what I put into it. As long as there is more rice than ‘stuff’, I can hide vegetables and they will eat it up with gusto. Also, my Hong Kong Rice Girl name was Flied Lice. But I digress!)
Ooh… but I do have a sandwich story from childhood…
One day in grade 2, I opened up my lunch bag and saw a really, really sad sandwich. There were two slices of bread and a slice of cheese and a thin slice of ham. I was really confused, as the sandwiches that my mom made for me were really chock full of stuff. A lot of stuff. Like a lot. But I ate it. It was really dry. I do remember having a moment of confusion before I went along my day, albeit, slightly hungry.
Towards the end of lunch time, while I was chatting away with my friends, the teacher made an announcement:
“Has anyone seen Andrew’s lunch? I think someone might have taken his lunch. There is a still lunch here in this paper bag. Does this seem familiar? I see a lovely sandwich, with tomato, fried egg, ham, lettuce, cheese… I see an apple and an orange in here too and some crackers. If no one claims this, I’ll have to throw this out in the garbage! What a shame, as it looks so tasty and healthy.”
It wasn’t until a few days later when I ate my normal lunch with a sandwich that was suspiciously similar to the one she described that something clicked in my head with a loud ‘DOPE!
I think of the way my mom lovingly made my lunch. An immigrant to America, with limited English, 2 kids and pregnant with a third, unfamiliar with Western food, making me a healthy sandwich for my lunch. She even added sometimes shredded pork in my sandwiches, which, weirdly goes super well with butter. She made me food I liked. She made food with love. And now I wonder about Andrew and his sandwich, which I considered sad compared to mine. But maybe it was the best that his busy parent could do for him.
I think I’ll stick with Sandwich.