Thursday, April 18, 2013

Food Fight!

Not the fun kind. Not the kind you see in the movies in cafeterias, but the kind that end with full plates, empty bellies and one hella mad mama. 

Instead of saying, “Ok guys, dinner’s ready!” I should stand on a chair and yell “FOOOOOOOD FIIIIGHT!” Because that’s what it is. Straight up battle of the wills. Try it, you’ll like it. It has cheese on it. You liked it when you were a baby. Eat before it gets cold. Gah for the love of mother monkey milk just put it in your mouth and chew! I give up, you’re excused. 

I was a picky eater as a child. I remember being afraid to try anything that didn’t resemble a chicken nugget or a French fry. One time I didn’t want to eat my green beans so I put them in my mouth then pretended to wipe my mouth with my napkin. But in actuality what I was doing was a spitting them into the napkin. I know, I know, impressive skills for a child. Oh how clever I thought I was. I decided the best place to discard the evidence was my parent’s bathroom trash can. Not the toilet, the trash can. Obviously I was discovered and went to bed with a red butt. 

I’m not sure if having a picky child is my punishment for the torture I caused my parents at the dinner table, but I’d rather pass a kidney stone through my eye ball!

I’ve tried it all. I’ve let her help me prepare the food. Most of which she won’t even touch. I’ve tried “kid friendly” recipes. Let me just say, I don’t know what kind of picky kids the magazines, blogs, articles and Oprah  are referring to but anything with pesto in it won’t be consumed by my kid. Or maybe their definition of “picky” means they prefer carrots over green beans or chicken over fish. But my kind of picky kid means the main food groups include and ARE limited to mac N’Cheese, grilled cheese, cheese taquitos, cheese pizza, chicken nuggets and lunchables. Basically the key ingredients to early onset diabetes. 

I’ve reached out to my mommy friends and their advice is consistent to what I already do. I make dinner, I serve dinner, if they don’t eat they don’t get a snack or anything else. Most nights Kylee goes to bed hungry and whiny. Granted, I was vice president in developing Kylee’s terrible eating habits. As a baby she ate whatever we fixed. There came a point when she began to refuse what we made and then we catered to her. Worst.Mistake.Ever. I believed she would grow out of it on her own and it would get easier as she got older. I repeat, worst mistake ever EVER! I’ve gone through stages of mother shame for this and I’m living out the consequences of it now so to those who told me so, don’t tell me so. I already know.
I’m looking forward to the day that this battle is won and dinner time doesn’t leave me looking like this:

Dear Dinner Time,
I want you to go suck on a piece of jagged wood until your mouth is filled with splinters and then drink a cup of salt water vinegar. You and I are NOT friends.