Saturday, April 6, 2019

Bigger than my head

Sometimes I think back to my pre-parent self and just laugh.  I was going to be the mom that had the perfect kid.  I was going to make sure they spent time outside every day.  My kid was going to behave perfectly in public, never crying or throwing a fit.  My kid would always be in clean clothes and would never have snot running down their face.  I was going to feed that kid a perfect diet, heavy on the vegetables and absolutely no sugar.

And then I had a kid.  I realized that kids aren't perfect and neither are parents.  I came to terms with the fact that mom can't be supermom 100% of the time, and being present is much more important than perfection.  My kid has spend copious quantities of time inside on sunny days.  He has thrown tantrums that made me cry in embarrassment and empathy.  He's been dirty, snotty, and even stinky at times.  And, boy, has my attitude on sugar changed!

I realized a long time ago that teaching my son about moderation and special treats was much more valuable over the long run than never allowing him sugar and junk.  I certainly eat more than my fair share of cakes, ice cream, and other sweets.  I now let him indulge, with moderation. 

This past week we have been picnicking almost every day on our hikes.  I know that my kid doesn't sit well when there is a large group of children to play with.  He will eat as little and as quickly as possible in order to start playing.  So our lunches consisted of vegetables with hummus (purchased at Costco, hummus is not popular in Japan), fruit, and either chicken meatballs or tamagoyaki.  I felt good about all the healthy food we ate this week.

When we were in Harajuku today, we decided that if we were ever going to over the top indulge, today was going to be the day.  In March of 2018 a small shop named Totti Candy Factory opened its doors, bringing epic cotton candy to the people of Tokyo.  This cotton candy is beyond words.

We walked up the narrow steps to the second floor shop to find a small shop where customers stand in line as they walk the perimeter of the store.  There are 2 main displays of various types of packaged cotton candy and even cake pops.  But we came for the Harajuku Rainbow - a 45 cm / 17.7 inch high pile of fairy floss.


After paying ¥900 ($8), we took our receipt to the glass case right next to the store exit.  There are 3 windows, each with a person ready to spin your calorie intake into oblivion.  Under the cash register, I noticed a collection of wet wipes for customers to take.  We knew we would need plenty for this gastric endeavor.


The store employee kindly answered my son's questions as she added layer after layer of the sweet treat.


When she was done, she handed the monstrosity through the window and we left the store.  It was so big, my son had to extend his arm to not have it in his face. 


We took it down stairs to enjoy right next to the famed street, along with all the customers.  There is a wide sidewalk there meant for people to stand and eat their treats.  We set up camp and took our first bites.


Now, truth be told, I am not a fan of cotton candy.  But this was about the experience!  Where else can you get a huge rainbow cloud on a stick?  My son dug in with enthusiasm while I second-guessed my parenting choices.  Had I really purchased this?  What was his sugar rush going to entail?  What had I done?


With impressive table manners, my husband and son chowed their way through the epic mound of sugar.  I had bites of each of the flavors, but otherwise didn't eat too much of it.  It just isn't my favorite. 

Oh, what an experience.  It truly was a once in a lifetime treat.  I'm sure my son will be recalling this special treat for a very long time - especially when he isn't allowed to have sugar for weeks and weeks!


I never would have imagined I would be the parent who gave her kid a baby sized cotton candy when my son was a baby.  But here I am, just five years later, letting him go wild with sugar as a special treat.  Boy, have my opinions changed over the years.

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