I used to cook a lot. I loved experimenting with different recipes which encouraged my family to explore different foods.
I’d buy books, subscribe to magazines, pour through websites, all in the name of finding recipes to try out. I have a folder in my email specifically for recipes to make and share with the family.
My husband wanted me to cook most nights during the week. So, I did.
I’d go from market to market, just to collect the ingredients I needed. I mean, only the freshest and best for my family.
I’d spend mornings marinading and afternoons, preparing. Dinnertime is 6:30 in my house and g-d forbid it should be a little late.
I’d slave over hot ovens and coals, just to bring a delicious, aromatic meal to the dinner table in time to feed those growling tummies.
Every single night that I set the food down onto the table, I was rewarded with crying, whining, snarling and complaining.
“Why don’t you EVER make anything WE like”, they’d tantrum.
I did what anyone in their right mind would do after being responded to that many times…
I threw in the hot mitt.
I retired from the kitchen.
Well, sort of.
Instead of fancy, they got plain.
They still complained.
Instead of plain, the got microwaved.
They still complained.
I threw up my chicken germed, salmonella infested hands in exasperation.
What’s a mother and wife to do when a family needs to be fed yet doesn’t appreciate when this happens?
Pizza. Noodles. You’re on your own.
Now, a few years later, after starving my family, it seems I’m supposed to start the cooking thing again.
I’m on day 3.
Tonight we are having a concoction that I found on the internet after I googled all the ingredients I had sitting in front of me.
Minus the taco seasoning because apparently it was a home for wayward bugs. Yeah.
So, here I go again.
Washing bugs off the chicken because I mistakenly mistook it for taco seasoning.
Presenting said meals, minus bugs. I hope.
I wonder what the chances are of having a normal dinner, complete with “Hi honey, how was your day” instead of red faced tantrums over “how can you think we’d eat this?” conversation.
I’m betting I’m going to be going back to my old ways soon enough…
THEM: “What’s for dinner?”
ME: “I don’t what you’re eating but I’m going out.”
Me thinks it worked much better that way, with much less stress.
Well, except for the hubby who doesn’t care what he eats as long as he eats.
So, there’s that. Kinda.
Anyways, after today’s run-in with those little bugs in the taco seasoning…
They are all on their own.
I mean…EW GROSS!! Who needs that!
Middle State says
Same here. I realized recently that I don’t make as many home-cooked meals as I once did. Not only are we shuffling around for soccer practice, book club, etc. most nights, but the appreciation just isn’t there anymore. I commit to 2-3 times a week maximum and the rest? Yep. They’re on their own.
I don’t cook at all. Hubby does it. It works for us. Yeah, I’m lucky. But the reality is – he prefers it and would like to actually live through a meal and all bets are off if I were the one cooking it.
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How frustrating huh! I go thru that n my little one is only 2! Hubby will eat anything I cook. I think he just likes to be served-as if! Wouldn’t it just be nice if they could show just some appreciation. I think I would have left the bugs on the chicken n told them it was pepper-lol!
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Another Suburban Mom says
I cook dinner almost every night, and unless I am making pasta and garlic bread I watch them pick and push their food around and listen to them whine and shake my head sure in the knowledge that somewhere there are two kids with adventurous palates who have parents who won’t cook anything.