When you become a mother you are forced to do things that you never imagined that you would ever do. Some of you actually enjoy cooking. Well not me.
I would put that one in my top five list of things that I only do for love. The problem is when you have five people staring at you EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, as though you are the ONLY one in the universe who can give them direction, you sort of feel obligated to do something.
Some people have kids who love their smoked salmon, long for juicy pomegranates and beg for baked kale chips. I didn’t give birth to any of those kids. I didn’t even give birth to kids who will eat chicken and potatoes.
My husband was super picky as a child so I completely blame him. My experience growing up was you ate those green peas and you liked them. So, I did just that. I ate most anything out of fear of starvation and my mother’s wrath.
I did occasionally try to draw the line at lima beans and turnip greens but my mother was having none of it. You not only ate but you ate and smiled about it. Even when there were turnip greens hanging out of your braces, you just did.
Being I was raised that way, I take a hard line with my kids as well. I do not make special meals or cater to their pickiness. I do have a heart and I try to incorporate things into my meals that they actually do like occasionally. However peanut butter and jelly is not always easy to work into a menu.
I will give my daughter props because she will try just about anything for a bite of dessert (I never said I was above bribing). However the three boys would rather sit there for the entire meal and eat NOT A SINGLE BITE. Then they happily go to bed on an empty stomach.
You can’t break them. You can dangle dessert, cash and even corporal punishment and they will not budge. You see they have formed an alliance of three. I call them the Hungry Bunch. They just sit there all steely eyed, with their furrowed brows.
So my thought is this, you don’t like to eat and I don’t like to cook. Let’s just cut the pomp and ceremony. I mean picture this, I make three identical plates. They are appealing to all the senses, steaming ever so slightly. It is enough to make a normal person interested.
I place them in front of the boys. Thirty minutes later I remove three untouched plates containing cold lumps of food and dump the contents down the disposal. That’s a lot of pageantry for nothing.
I declare THAT IS IT!! I AM NOT DOING THIS A SINGLE TIME MORE! My husband (because he does actually enjoy eating) quickly reminds me that it is more about the celebration of family time, not the food. They are little and they will eat one day….blah. blah, blah. Then he quickly removes them all from my presence. I clean up, knowing he is right.
The supper table is very important for family. Even if not a single child is eating a DARN THING, you are discussing the days events, helping each other make important decisions (like will she wear a braid or a side pony tomorrow) and instilling the values of family time. You should always be able to count on your family.
Eventually they will probably hate the fact that we make them sit there every nights and discuss their days. And that is okay. My hope is that they come out the other side appreciating all those night and implementing the same practice in their own homes one day.
I will tell you this though. I have three boys and one day they are going to be hungry teenagers. From what I hear that stage of the male human likes to eat a lot and often. Boy oh boy is there going to be a lot of begging, complimenting and good old fashioned kissing-up going on for dear ol’ Mom.
I thought tonight we would just have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I know we had them last night. What is your point?
Prescription medicament use on the rise in the United States. Part 2
