A Big "Fork You"
I love to cook, and I'm pretty goshdang good at it. I mean, I know you guys probably don't think so because I've posted about a few epic cooking fails on here (alcoholic soup, desserts that resemble poop, and lemon cake that even my non-picky husband wouldn't eat). But those are few and far between. For the most part, mama knows her way around the kitchen, y'all.
Which is why I completely fail to understand why my kids act like I'm serving them sewer sludge at every meal.
It's not like I'm feeding them anything weird. It's not like I plop down a plate of jellied tongue and vol-au-vent of sweetbread (non fancy-schmancy translation: a puff pastry full of animal intestines. You're welcome) and expect them to gobble it up with gusto. I give them generally kid-friendly food - spaghetti and meatballs, homemade chicken noodle soup, tacos, stuff like that. And in small portions ... like, really small ... like, "I-don't-know-how-you-don't-waste-away-eating-such-birdlike-quantities" small.
But still, they turn their little noses up at everything I offer (except for the baby, but I estimate that'll be changing within the next six months or so). And to add insult to injury, proclaim it "yucky." Like the other night: I had slow-cooked a pot roast with baby carrots and potatoes and made gravy. Delicious. However, I noticed that Cameron hadn't taken a single bite and was just pushing his around his plate.
"Cameron. Eat," I said.
He whined and fidgeted. "But it's yuckyyyyyy," he replied. And then?
He ate a booger.
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