Dinner is my favorite meal. It’s the celebration of the end of the day. It’s the meal that involves more forethought than the others, and is generally more nutritionally balanced, creative and interesting. Family dinner conjures up an image of everyone sitting around the table enjoying a yummy meal and each other’s company.
Apparently, I have seen too many commercials for Pillsbury crescent rolls.
Naturally sometimes dinner does look like the all-American ideal. Sometimes I manage to get my chopping and other prep done early so everyone, or at least the kids, is sitting down to eat by 6:15 p.m. But usually, what happens is, we stay too long at the playground or a playdate, so I wind up frantically throwing something together, with children screaming and hanging on my pants so that my ass is hanging out as I hustle and bustle around our kitchen. It’s funny, but also humiliating – not at all what I thought my life would look like.
There’s also the scenario where I have my act together. When I chose a kid-pleasing recipe (one based on something they’ve liked before), bought all the ingredients, did the prep during naptime, prepared everything carefully and lovingly and no one will eat a thing. Maybe I fed them too many just-keep-out-of-my-hair snacks. Maybe they just don’t like what I’ve got. I know that the eating habits of a young child are as predictable as Rihanna’s hairstyles, and I shouldn’t take it personally, but I can’t help feeling betrayed, hoodwinked, exploited, frustrated, enraged and heartbroken.
So, here’s the Wednesday why - Why is dinner so damned hard? And if it’s not for you, then what’s your secret?
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