My wife works in the city three days a week. On these three days, I am home before her and therefore dinner is on me. Fine. However, there is one big problem: I am not a cook. However, I am a preparer. I can defrost, boil, and throw food into the oven with the best of them. I also happen to be very adept when it comes to using the strainer. So, I follow the KISS method when it comes to cooking: Keep it Simple Stupid.
My children are particular eaters. Can you relate fellow parents? Anyway, they have a few foods that they like to eat (luckily, they enjoy fruit) and are content as long as we stick to their tastes. Fortunately, there is a symbiotic relationship between their limited tastes and my limited skills. It’s probably not a coincidence.
On one of my recent nights to prepare dinner, I decided to make eggs. Both boys like eggs, and they are always happy to eat them.
Before BR, my nine-year-old went off to karate, I told him we would be having eggs for dinner. He requested I put bacon bits in the eggs. BR thinks bacon bits go with just about every food, so his request was not a surprise. For SJ, my six-year-old, however, bacon bits have not secured a place in his limited diet. So, I had three options: make two helpings – one with bacon bits and one without, deny BR’s request, or take a chance that SJ would adjust. I decided to go with option number three, hoping I could sneak the little red flakes past my fussy eater.
When BR took his plate, he said, “Hey, where are the bacon bits?”
“They’re in there. Just don’t tell SJ, or he won’t eat them.”
“Oh yeah, there they are. Okay.”
SJ had taken his plate first. He started with his bagel. With the bagel eaten, he was on to his eggs (why he can’t eat two things at once is beyond me, and I leave it as one of the great unanswered questions). He finished his first bite of eggs while watching Spongebob and said nothing. Bless that yellow sea creature. SJ was distracted and blissfully unaware.
Then, the serenity was disturbed. “Hey what are these red things?”
I tried to ignore him.
“What are they?” he repeated.
“It’s nothing. Just eat em.”
“What is it?”
“It’s poison. You have some, BR has some, mom will have some, and I have some.”
And we will all go down together.
“He’s kidding. You’re kidding daddy. Daddy’s kidding.” BR was convinced.
“No, I’m not. Now, just eat. Look, I’m eating.”
A moment passed and SJ informed me, “I don’t like poison.”
“Just eat it. It’s fine. Yum, yum. Poison is good.”
He pushed his plate away, and was on the verge of tears, “I won’t eat it. I don’t like poison. I don’t like it.”
Uggh, sigh. I told you my kids were picky