How I became a short order cook...

As I was putting dinner on the table (Pulled pork for Jason and I, Madison's leftover Outback, and Anthony's standby; the infamous chicken nuggets), I hear Anthony explain to Madison, "You see Mad, God made me different from my family. I just don't eat like that. Only if its pizza, chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, steak, or chicken. I'm just different from this family like that. It's just how he made me. I can't help it!"

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I was the perfect mother BEFORE I had children. Honestly, aren't we all? Ha! What little I KNEW!!!

I VOWED I would NOT be a short order cook, making different meals for each member in my family. They would eat what was served, or not eat... Is anyone with me here?

Look who lost his front tooth!

Then, I had children. I have willful children. Doorknobs they are not! I have a child who is a picky eater. A child who screams thrashes and vomits over is freaked out by the texture of ground beef.  A child who's most favorite food is pizza yet will eat no other food with red sauce. A child who has not had a drop of milk (chocolate, vanilla, you name it I have tried) since the bottle went to the trashcan (said child will devour ice cream and yogurt go figure...). A child who once saw me pour milk into his beloved KRAFT ONLY mac and cheese and refused to eat it because there is milk in that. A child who will eat any meat (other then the ground variety) as long as I say its chicken or steak and provide a condiment for dipping. A child who snubs Kraft singles but will eat a pound of YELLOW only deli cheese in 2 days if I let him. The list could go on, I will spare you from the phase where nothing on his plate could touch (thank god we have moved on from THAT)...

The nights I actually find the motivation to cook I have to finagle dinner in a way that there is at least ONE thing Mr. Picky will eat. Broccoli is usually a go, mashed potatoes too. So we eat them. A LOT. 

There was a time that the sight of me in the kitchen would evoke tears from both of us. I can still vividly remember the days when he would climb up the bar stools with his chubby fingers, peek over the island with those big browns, spying what I was fixing on the cook top. If the said item looked funny, smelled funny, had red sauce, or ground meat the tears were instant. I'm not eating that he would scream and begin to gag in his ever so dramatic way...

I will never forget one night I made spaghetti. I mean who doesn't like spaghetti? I decided I was OVER this whole game and damn it he was going to eat it or he was going to be hungry. I mean how the heck did I turn into the short order cook I vowed to never be. Spaghetti was dinner and he was eating it.

That little turd sat at the table for what felt like hours. I begged. I pleaded. I yelled. I cried. He refused. Finally, I somehow coerced him to "try it". He dipped (if you can even call it that) his fork into the spaghetti and it barely passed his lips when he vomited. OMG Major fail.

That night my little guy went to bed with no snack and no dinner. It was terrible. I never have felt so guilty in my life. It just didn't work FOR ME. Others do it and that's SO TOTALLY FINE. I just could not.

Fighting over food was NOT a battle I was / am willing to pick. According to Anthony, he was "just made this way". So I have become the short order cook I vowed to never be. On average, I fix Anthony a separate meal 3 nights a week, we eat out 2 nights a week, and he will eat a meal I actually cook for the entire family ONCE a week (again this is just an average). I suppose one day his palate will grow bored of chicken nuggets and pizza and he will one day be adventurous and try new things. BUT...  Until then, I guess I will be a short order cook and pray that no one has ever died from a chicken nugget only diet....