Notes and Blessings for Friday
- My husband passed an important computer certification exam last weekend! No time to relax around here though--he has another one next week. The exams are very difficult and most people barely pass. Students are nervous going into the exams and much relieved after passing.
- I had a good heart to heart with my pediatrician about the psychiatry visit. He said he gets this same diagnosis a lot from this particular psychiatrist, and he is always skeptical. However, recently he learned that one of his patients, who had autistic-like symptoms, really benefited from the vision and occupational therapies he received on the advice of this psychiatrist. Since autistic kids have a lot of sensory issues, it made sense to me that these therapies would prove beneficial to them, or to a child whose symptoms were borderline autistic.
That aside, the pediatrician said he tended to agree with me--that Peter has ADHD. He offered to refer me to a different psychiatrist. At first that seemed appealing, so that we could get a second opinion on the auditory and visual processing disorders that were mentioned. But after researching both disorders, I'm convinced they don't match up with how I see Peter perform. So, we're leaning toward dealing with Peter's ADHD and anxiety without help--just using our instincts. We'll reevaluate it when he's about ten. That can be a turning point for ADHD symptoms, with sufferers becoming more aggressive and manipulative.
- My 14 month-old Beth has dropped down to one nap a day--about 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. My 38 month-old Mary has dropped her nap, making it prudent and convenient to put the two girls down at 7 p.m., giving me plenty of time to read chapter books to the boys, until their bedtime at 8:30 p.m. This is going to be so much easier, as long as I can get dinner on the table earlier--like 5 p.m. I'll still try to get Beth to settle down for an afternoon nursing though. I don't want her to drop that feeding entirely.
- We will no longer try to get Peter to go to children's church. Instead, we'll allow him to stay with us in the sanctuary. He'll get bored eventually, and may come up with the courage to go to class without a parent. The goal of therapy is to face one's fears. If we sit outside the class so that he gets the teaching and social interaction, he isn't having to face his fears. Better to let him decide when he's ready to do that, so that the entire family is less impacted by the weekly anxiety struggle. Just dealing with the ADHD thing can be draining enough. And besides, children's church is a new phenomena. Kids used to always attend church with their parents. I'm sure Peter will glean something from being in the sanctuary, even though Pastor is on the intellectual side, delivering rather complicated (but good) sermons.
- Like many others in snow-covered, cloudy states, I've got a bit of the winter blues. I can't think of a single thing to say, beyond these updates.
So....time to sign off. Have a great weekend!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
the professionals
You'd never guess.
Peter and I went to his very first psychiatry appointment yesterday. Me thinks it might be our last.
The doctor took a history from me, and asked about symptoms. Then, after spending ten minutes with my beloved son, the woman calls me back in and says these things:
- no ADHD
- she suspects Sensory Integration Disorder (not an accepted psychiatric diagnosis--no evidence that the "therapies" work, considered quackery by many in neurological field, pediatric field, and psychiatry field. Is gaining acceptance in school districts, however.)
- she suspects auditory processing disorder
- she suspects visual processing disorder
- tells me he is probably sensitive to milk protein, and wheat gluten (even though no food allergies in nuclear family, and no sign of GI symptoms).
She gave me a huge stack of stuff to read, and suggested some vitamin supplements that run $70.00/bottle, with a three-pill-a-day dose.
She gave me a prescription for a speech/language evaluation, a sensory integration evaluation, and a specialized vision evaluation.
I told her we had already made the switch to whole foods (no additives/dyes), so she spared me that lecture. She feels too many kids are being diagnosed with ADHD and autism, when the real problem is toxins in the environment, coupled with genetic sensitivities (or allergies). The toxins cause, in essence, brain damage--leading to sensory issues and later, behavior and learning issues.
It didn't matter to her that my son wasn't having any problems in school (okay, he is a lousy speller, but Daddy kinda is too). Usually, a learning disability translates (by eight years old) into problems grasping new concepts, or in retaining new information. I never spend more than two days on a new concept. He gets it by day two.
He displays an awful lot of ADHD symptoms when not kept busy, but of all the sensory integration symptoms, I could only pick out a couple that seemed a good match--the fact that he chews on his sleeves, that he's hyperactive, and that he gets hot and bothered easily. That's overwhelming evidence, wouldn't you say?
While we were in her office, Peter complained about his loose tooth. She immediately picked up on that, and said that kids with sensory integration disorder frequently have more trouble with loose teeth.
Okay, I didn't laugh at that. But I wanted to. As a former first-grade teacher, I can tell you that EVERY CHILD IS BOTHERED BY LOOSE TEETH. They are obsessed until the tooth comes out--driving their teachers and parents nuts. They rarely stop either trying to twist it out, or worrying about it hurting when it comes out, or accidentally swallowing it when it comes out. Am I wrong here, Moms?
The thought of his fairly serious anxiety disorder just suddenly disappearing after giving up all milk products, or all gluten products, seems laughable to me. Yes, that is her answer to his anxiety. It is related to sensory integration, and with diet changes, it will probably go away.
The therapist (an intern) he is seeing for his anxiety disorder isn't helping either. He is supposed to think happy thoughts, so the anxious thoughts will go away. Or he is supposed to work on relaxation breathing. Or tell himself to STOP as soon as the scary thoughts begin. All this is well and good, truly--except that none of it is working. He still won't go to children's church unless one of us sits within view. Then, he keeps looking at us, to make sure we haven't betrayed him and left without his knowledge (we don't ever leave).
He starts worrying about Sunday church by Wednesday, and Wednesday AWANA by Sunday night. Nothing has changed, even though he's been off of the Strattera at least three weeks.
Truly, I think he will get over this separation anxiety. The more time that passes since last summer's VBS mishap (my husband forgot Mary in the church nursery, and came home without her, only to drive immediately back to get her) the more likely he is to quit dwelling on it. It might be a year or two, but he will get over it.
This problem will likely be replaced by something else that unduly bothers him, but that too, will eventually pass. Over time he will learn coping skills, with our help and the Lord's help. I'm not sure going to all these appointments is doing us a bit of good.
The whole thing yesterday reminded me of the time last spring when I took Mary for a speech evaluation. The therapist spent about ten minutes with her, and then decided she had apraxia, which is a fairly serious speech disorder, much like what happens after someone has a stroke and has trouble speaking, only it is not from trauma, but present from birth usually.
Mary started talking at 27 months, and has developed a beautiful vocabulary with long sentences, using words (correctly in context) like obviously, miraculous, delectable, terrible, horrible, magnificent, and actually. She does not have a language disorder, although her articulation isn't entirely clear yet to strangers.
At age two, at least 50% of a child's speech should be correctly understood by strangers; at age 3, 75% should, and at age 4, 100% of the child's speech should be understood by strangers. Mary, at age 3 years, two months, makes herself understood at a rate of 65-70% (for strangers), so she is lagging a bit in articulation, but I suspect that is due to her pacifier use past age one. Peter also used a pacifier past age one, and he also has articulation problems (th and l), which we are working to correct at home.
Sadly, when I was in the educational system, I believed wholeheartedly in the wisdom of professionals, rather than in parents. Now, it's quite the opposite.
My son is very hard to raise. I'm left with that. He makes me shout out to the Lord often, for various reasons. Today, for example, he didn't stop talking the entire day. I'm emotionally exhausted, and dread doing the dishes, or anything else tonight.
But he is also a fantastic kid--full of life and love and ideas.
He'll be just fine, and I love him just the way he is.
I guess it took a visit to some arrogant "professional" to make me realize that I know my child, and what he needs, and what works for him.
Of course I do.
Why did I ever think (again) that some "professional" could tell me what my child needed?
Professionals can be a wonderful resource. But that's all--just a resource. Not the answer.
Peter and I went to his very first psychiatry appointment yesterday. Me thinks it might be our last.
The doctor took a history from me, and asked about symptoms. Then, after spending ten minutes with my beloved son, the woman calls me back in and says these things:
- no ADHD
- she suspects Sensory Integration Disorder (not an accepted psychiatric diagnosis--no evidence that the "therapies" work, considered quackery by many in neurological field, pediatric field, and psychiatry field. Is gaining acceptance in school districts, however.)
- she suspects auditory processing disorder
- she suspects visual processing disorder
- tells me he is probably sensitive to milk protein, and wheat gluten (even though no food allergies in nuclear family, and no sign of GI symptoms).
She gave me a huge stack of stuff to read, and suggested some vitamin supplements that run $70.00/bottle, with a three-pill-a-day dose.
She gave me a prescription for a speech/language evaluation, a sensory integration evaluation, and a specialized vision evaluation.
I told her we had already made the switch to whole foods (no additives/dyes), so she spared me that lecture. She feels too many kids are being diagnosed with ADHD and autism, when the real problem is toxins in the environment, coupled with genetic sensitivities (or allergies). The toxins cause, in essence, brain damage--leading to sensory issues and later, behavior and learning issues.
It didn't matter to her that my son wasn't having any problems in school (okay, he is a lousy speller, but Daddy kinda is too). Usually, a learning disability translates (by eight years old) into problems grasping new concepts, or in retaining new information. I never spend more than two days on a new concept. He gets it by day two.
He displays an awful lot of ADHD symptoms when not kept busy, but of all the sensory integration symptoms, I could only pick out a couple that seemed a good match--the fact that he chews on his sleeves, that he's hyperactive, and that he gets hot and bothered easily. That's overwhelming evidence, wouldn't you say?
While we were in her office, Peter complained about his loose tooth. She immediately picked up on that, and said that kids with sensory integration disorder frequently have more trouble with loose teeth.
Okay, I didn't laugh at that. But I wanted to. As a former first-grade teacher, I can tell you that EVERY CHILD IS BOTHERED BY LOOSE TEETH. They are obsessed until the tooth comes out--driving their teachers and parents nuts. They rarely stop either trying to twist it out, or worrying about it hurting when it comes out, or accidentally swallowing it when it comes out. Am I wrong here, Moms?
The thought of his fairly serious anxiety disorder just suddenly disappearing after giving up all milk products, or all gluten products, seems laughable to me. Yes, that is her answer to his anxiety. It is related to sensory integration, and with diet changes, it will probably go away.
The therapist (an intern) he is seeing for his anxiety disorder isn't helping either. He is supposed to think happy thoughts, so the anxious thoughts will go away. Or he is supposed to work on relaxation breathing. Or tell himself to STOP as soon as the scary thoughts begin. All this is well and good, truly--except that none of it is working. He still won't go to children's church unless one of us sits within view. Then, he keeps looking at us, to make sure we haven't betrayed him and left without his knowledge (we don't ever leave).
He starts worrying about Sunday church by Wednesday, and Wednesday AWANA by Sunday night. Nothing has changed, even though he's been off of the Strattera at least three weeks.
Truly, I think he will get over this separation anxiety. The more time that passes since last summer's VBS mishap (my husband forgot Mary in the church nursery, and came home without her, only to drive immediately back to get her) the more likely he is to quit dwelling on it. It might be a year or two, but he will get over it.
This problem will likely be replaced by something else that unduly bothers him, but that too, will eventually pass. Over time he will learn coping skills, with our help and the Lord's help. I'm not sure going to all these appointments is doing us a bit of good.
The whole thing yesterday reminded me of the time last spring when I took Mary for a speech evaluation. The therapist spent about ten minutes with her, and then decided she had apraxia, which is a fairly serious speech disorder, much like what happens after someone has a stroke and has trouble speaking, only it is not from trauma, but present from birth usually.
Mary started talking at 27 months, and has developed a beautiful vocabulary with long sentences, using words (correctly in context) like obviously, miraculous, delectable, terrible, horrible, magnificent, and actually. She does not have a language disorder, although her articulation isn't entirely clear yet to strangers.
At age two, at least 50% of a child's speech should be correctly understood by strangers; at age 3, 75% should, and at age 4, 100% of the child's speech should be understood by strangers. Mary, at age 3 years, two months, makes herself understood at a rate of 65-70% (for strangers), so she is lagging a bit in articulation, but I suspect that is due to her pacifier use past age one. Peter also used a pacifier past age one, and he also has articulation problems (th and l), which we are working to correct at home.
Sadly, when I was in the educational system, I believed wholeheartedly in the wisdom of professionals, rather than in parents. Now, it's quite the opposite.
My son is very hard to raise. I'm left with that. He makes me shout out to the Lord often, for various reasons. Today, for example, he didn't stop talking the entire day. I'm emotionally exhausted, and dread doing the dishes, or anything else tonight.
But he is also a fantastic kid--full of life and love and ideas.
He'll be just fine, and I love him just the way he is.
I guess it took a visit to some arrogant "professional" to make me realize that I know my child, and what he needs, and what works for him.
Of course I do.
Why did I ever think (again) that some "professional" could tell me what my child needed?
Professionals can be a wonderful resource. But that's all--just a resource. Not the answer.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
aspirations of grandeur
As a young girl I sang along to the Carpenters, Peter, Paul and Mary, and Bread. There were others, too, I'm sure.
And do you know, I wanted to be a singer so badly. So strong was the desire that my heart ached at times.
Because I had a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad voice. My sister and my cousin told me so. Once. And they laughed at my tears.
So I became a teacher instead of a singer. And I was happy.
Then along came Brandon, a tall, blond first grader, who decided to inform me that Mrs. Colosky, his kindergarten teacher, sang A LOT BETTER THAN ME.
Oh, the ache.
Now last year my beloved Paul looked me straight in the eye, cupped my face in his hands, and said, "I love the way you sing." The song was "Hush Little Baby", and I've sung it hundreds of times. That's apparently how long it takes for me to sound good.
Anyway, I also really want to be a good cook. Very badly. But the thing is, once again, I'm pretty horrible at it.
No one but me spends ninety minutes, while fighting sheer exhaustion, looking at different recipes for homemade chicken broth--learning about all the intricacies. I hate touching chicken, but my hubby thankfully does that part--he's the meat lover and I'd just as soon never buy meat again. Unfortunately, all our children take after him--real carnivores.
I may have to practice a good year or more, but by golly, someday....
Someday....I am going to make chicken broth worth commenting on.
And someone will cup my face in their hands, look me in the eye, and say, "I really love the way you make chicken broth."
The End
And do you know, I wanted to be a singer so badly. So strong was the desire that my heart ached at times.
Because I had a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad voice. My sister and my cousin told me so. Once. And they laughed at my tears.
So I became a teacher instead of a singer. And I was happy.
Then along came Brandon, a tall, blond first grader, who decided to inform me that Mrs. Colosky, his kindergarten teacher, sang A LOT BETTER THAN ME.
Oh, the ache.
Now last year my beloved Paul looked me straight in the eye, cupped my face in his hands, and said, "I love the way you sing." The song was "Hush Little Baby", and I've sung it hundreds of times. That's apparently how long it takes for me to sound good.
Anyway, I also really want to be a good cook. Very badly. But the thing is, once again, I'm pretty horrible at it.
No one but me spends ninety minutes, while fighting sheer exhaustion, looking at different recipes for homemade chicken broth--learning about all the intricacies. I hate touching chicken, but my hubby thankfully does that part--he's the meat lover and I'd just as soon never buy meat again. Unfortunately, all our children take after him--real carnivores.
I may have to practice a good year or more, but by golly, someday....
Someday....I am going to make chicken broth worth commenting on.
And someone will cup my face in their hands, look me in the eye, and say, "I really love the way you make chicken broth."
The End
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Respecting your Valentine
Valentine's Day. Do you celebrate it?
No, I don't mean the pink and red construction paper, or the dainty chocolates.
Or the cheesy, store-bought Valentines--which the retail industry elaborates on each year, in an attempt to suck even more money from our pockets. There used to be an aisle for Valentine cards and chocolates, now.....there's everything from heart-covered underwear, to baking supplies, to picture frames. Big business, this love day.
What I mean is, do you use the day to think about your spouse, and how well you've loved him over the last year? Or, as it translates to men--how well you've respected him in the last year? Respect equals love, for our man.
Ephesians 5:33
However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.
I do respect my husband, in theory. But there is this one thing about him that works to erode my respect. My heart doesn't react with grace, so my words and actions plummet into sinful territory--into disrespect.
And that disrespect hurts not only my husband, by also my children. Their sense of security depends in part on how gracious I am toward their daddy. And the health of their own marriages depends on this as well. In short, the stakes are huge.
The one thing of which I speak is small, trivial. A simple personality trait that he never chose. It embedded in his genes, quite without his permission, just as some of my unlovely traits did.
It's his pessimism. I hate that about him. I spend so much energy wishing he were a glass-half-full kind of guy. While pessimism is technically a personality trait, if allowed to run wild, it leads to the counting of hardships, rather than blessings--and then dwelling on those hardships with a hardened heart. Eventually, thanklessness takes root--replacing gratefulness.
The most humbling thing about my graceless sin (my irritation), is that my husband is a better husband, than I am a wife. He is much better at loving me unconditionally, than I am at respecting him unconditionally. Much of the not-so-good stuff in our marriage stems from my heart--not his.
Can I say in my defense that he's been a Christian since age 7, and me only since age 31? Okay..probably not. I can't think that.
A breakthrough occurred for me, recently. We were discussing something and his mother's traffic accident and death came up. He seldom speaks of this, unless I ask. Even then, few details come forth.
He mentioned that when he (at age 16) and his sister (at age 13) went to the morgue to identify their mother's body, they found her skull crushed, and her face disfigured. Few such tears ever emerge, but when he mentioned this, there were tears. He added that he was never the same after that....that he didn't know how someone could be the same.
Unfortunately, neither he or his sister were ever offered grief counseling. And I don't understand why they, rather than their father, went to the morgue. My husband said they chose to, but I feel law enforcement or someone else should have counseled their father against sending his children.
When our first baby, a boy we named Isaac Abraham (because we had to give him up to the Lord), passed away in utero, my husband chose to look at him as he was born. I did not, but I held him after the nurse wrapped him up completely--even his face--in a blanket.
The horror of that image remains with my husband. How I wish he hadn't looked! Our baby apparently had passed away some days earlier--he wasn't just small....there were signs of old death. The nurse told us he would look like a miniature, but fully-formed baby (and he was fully-formed and miniature). But she didn't anticipate how old death would change the scene. Or, because she had seen such things many times, and the babies weren't ever hers, she didn't fully understand the emotional impact.
These two scenes--his mother, our baby--represent my husband's most vulnerable life moments. God has shown me in the last weeks how these scenes can help me see my husband the way Jesus sees him.
We can love the way Jesus loves, by seeing the way Jesus sees.
Lately, when my husband makes some glass-half-empty statement, instead of becoming intensely irritated, I remember his humanity. I stay quiet (mercy), or I complement (grace). It's not a perfect process--I'm still a sinner after all. But it's moving my heart, words, and deeds into respectful territory.
And I also pray that God softens painful images from the past--in a way that only He can.
I can't fathom what it may be about your husband that drives you into sinful, mouthy mode.
But I do know this.
You can love him well (respect him) when you choose to see his humanity--his brokenness--rather than his faults. It will remind you that we are all broken. We all need mercy and grace.
And we were given it.
So we're called to extend it.
Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.
Ephesians 4:2
Read a post by the We Are That Family author, about respecting husbands.
Read a repost by the A Wise Woman Builds Her Home author, about respecting sons.
No, I don't mean the pink and red construction paper, or the dainty chocolates.
Or the cheesy, store-bought Valentines--which the retail industry elaborates on each year, in an attempt to suck even more money from our pockets. There used to be an aisle for Valentine cards and chocolates, now.....there's everything from heart-covered underwear, to baking supplies, to picture frames. Big business, this love day.
What I mean is, do you use the day to think about your spouse, and how well you've loved him over the last year? Or, as it translates to men--how well you've respected him in the last year? Respect equals love, for our man.
Ephesians 5:33
However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.
And that disrespect hurts not only my husband, by also my children. Their sense of security depends in part on how gracious I am toward their daddy. And the health of their own marriages depends on this as well. In short, the stakes are huge.
The one thing of which I speak is small, trivial. A simple personality trait that he never chose. It embedded in his genes, quite without his permission, just as some of my unlovely traits did.
It's his pessimism. I hate that about him. I spend so much energy wishing he were a glass-half-full kind of guy. While pessimism is technically a personality trait, if allowed to run wild, it leads to the counting of hardships, rather than blessings--and then dwelling on those hardships with a hardened heart. Eventually, thanklessness takes root--replacing gratefulness.
The most humbling thing about my graceless sin (my irritation), is that my husband is a better husband, than I am a wife. He is much better at loving me unconditionally, than I am at respecting him unconditionally. Much of the not-so-good stuff in our marriage stems from my heart--not his.
Can I say in my defense that he's been a Christian since age 7, and me only since age 31? Okay..probably not. I can't think that.
A breakthrough occurred for me, recently. We were discussing something and his mother's traffic accident and death came up. He seldom speaks of this, unless I ask. Even then, few details come forth.
He mentioned that when he (at age 16) and his sister (at age 13) went to the morgue to identify their mother's body, they found her skull crushed, and her face disfigured. Few such tears ever emerge, but when he mentioned this, there were tears. He added that he was never the same after that....that he didn't know how someone could be the same.
Unfortunately, neither he or his sister were ever offered grief counseling. And I don't understand why they, rather than their father, went to the morgue. My husband said they chose to, but I feel law enforcement or someone else should have counseled their father against sending his children.
When our first baby, a boy we named Isaac Abraham (because we had to give him up to the Lord), passed away in utero, my husband chose to look at him as he was born. I did not, but I held him after the nurse wrapped him up completely--even his face--in a blanket.
The horror of that image remains with my husband. How I wish he hadn't looked! Our baby apparently had passed away some days earlier--he wasn't just small....there were signs of old death. The nurse told us he would look like a miniature, but fully-formed baby (and he was fully-formed and miniature). But she didn't anticipate how old death would change the scene. Or, because she had seen such things many times, and the babies weren't ever hers, she didn't fully understand the emotional impact.
These two scenes--his mother, our baby--represent my husband's most vulnerable life moments. God has shown me in the last weeks how these scenes can help me see my husband the way Jesus sees him.
We can love the way Jesus loves, by seeing the way Jesus sees.
Lately, when my husband makes some glass-half-empty statement, instead of becoming intensely irritated, I remember his humanity. I stay quiet (mercy), or I complement (grace). It's not a perfect process--I'm still a sinner after all. But it's moving my heart, words, and deeds into respectful territory.
And I also pray that God softens painful images from the past--in a way that only He can.
I can't fathom what it may be about your husband that drives you into sinful, mouthy mode.
But I do know this.
You can love him well (respect him) when you choose to see his humanity--his brokenness--rather than his faults. It will remind you that we are all broken. We all need mercy and grace.
And we were given it.
So we're called to extend it.
Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.
Ephesians 4:2
Read a post by the We Are That Family author, about respecting husbands.
Read a repost by the A Wise Woman Builds Her Home author, about respecting sons.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Peter and the kitchen
Keep him busy, I've told myself over the years. But often, this didn't alter behavior enough. Now I realize he has to be busy doing something he's passionate about--like hunting insects, or cooking and baking. The calming effect is marked, and the outbursts much fewer, following substantial time in the kitchen. I'd call that therapy.
Earlier this evening Peter and Paul enjoyed hallway basketball. My husband attached a hoop to the door at the end of the hallway, providing a winter outlet for exercise. Vigorous. That pretty much describes the hallway scene around here.
I started dinner during their game (nerf basketball), and Peter's radar didn't disappoint. Interrupting their play, he appeared in the kitchen. "Are you cooking? Can I help?"
Above you see the vegetables he prepared for the steamer basket.
While he worked it dawned on me that at eight years old, he could easily prepare a whole meal. We will most certainly work toward that. In order to succeed at whatever he chooses in life, he must learn to control his ADHD. I believe the kitchen will be a big part of that, and I thank God for pointing us in the whole-food direction. Creating food from scratch consumes much of the day, if one counts the three meals plus snack preparation. My right-hand man stands ready to assist. Or take over.
Lessons we're learning along our journey to whole, healthier food:
- Plan menus weekly to facilitate prep work--like soaking beans, or starting spaghetti sauce, or making corn muffins.
- When shopping, check labels carefully. I found that the jelly and peanut butter in our cupboard both contain high-fructose corn syrup, which hasn't been studied enough, in my opinion. It is highly processed.
- If you don't keep up with snack-food prep, you'll end up feeling like there's nothing to eat. Fruit won't always carry you to the next meal, and cheese is an expensive option. Plan ahead for snacks, as well as for meals.
I researched fat substitutes and learned that applesauce or other fruit puree succeeds as a substitute for oil in cakes and muffins, but not as a substitute for the butter in cookies. I think the bean puree is a good alternative, but in the recipe I used, it eliminated all but 3 TBSP of the butter--substituting 3/4 C white beans (pureed in blender with 2 TBSP reserved bean liquid). Also, the recipe reduced the sugar and increased the cooking time. Lower fat recipes overcook easily, so it didn't make sense to bake them for fifteen to seventeen minutes. I did 15 just to make sure I followed the recipe fully, and they were too hard (although for whatever reason, they were softer today).
My research also taught me that when taking fat out, one has to put flavor in--so next time I'll increase the vanilla extract.
Anyhow, I'll be tweaking both oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip cookie recipes this week, with a little bean fun. Emphasis on a little. I'll post the resulting recipes when they're finalized.
High-Fructose Corn Syrup links:
High-Fructose Corn Syrup Contains Mercury
High-Fructose Corn Syrup - How Dangerous Is It
_______________________________
That concludes this update. Good night, friends. Thanks for reading!
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