I wouldn’t have guessed it was possible to overdose on bread to the point of needing a full-body detox and possibly a carefully orchestrated therapy session complete with that rabbity-toothed motherfucker from Intervention, but here I am after a weekend of bingeing on baked goods: doughy, puffy, and possibly forming my own yeasty crust.

Oh, is it grossing you out to hear about my personal yeasty crust? Well too bad, because where were YOU when I decided that making pizza, naan, and oat bread in the same 24-hour period would be a good idea? Where were you when I learned that while Indian food is all fine and good, fresh naan with peanut butter and jelly is something akin to a taste receptor orgasm? Where were you when I shoveled half a loaf of bread in my mouth at 11 PM last night, even though I was stuffed beyond reason, reasoning that it was easier to simply eat the slices rather than put them away?

I’m going to die of gluten poisoning—distended and bloated on the side of the road like a decomposing raccoon—and it’s all your fault.

In other food ridiculousness, I engaged in an epic battle with Riley on Sunday morning over a waffle. The same damn waffle he eats every day, except this time I snuck some butter—not margarine, mind you, but delicious, drool-triggering butter—on top of it and a tiny microscopic bit hadn’t melted enough and he was all WHAT IS THIS WHITE STUFF I DON’T LIKE IT. And then he refused to take one more bite of his 100% inoffensive WAFFLE coated in SYRUP and I pretty much lost my shit, because while I am used to his obnoxious pickiness when it comes to food apparently I draw the line at barely visible butter freakouts, and then his father and I did the thing I swore I would never do as a parent: we forced him to sit at the table and finish his breakfast.

Naturally it was wholly unpleasant for all parties and by the time the last bite reluctantly slid down his gripe-hole the morning was pretty much lying in ruins. Everyone was mad at each other with the exception of Dylan, who was oblivious to the drama since he was so busy eating his own waffle and about fifteen maple sausages to boot, what the hell. (“MO SASSAGE PEEZ. MO SASSAGE PEEZE. TANK YOU.”)

It seems I have to re-learn this lesson every now and then: fighting about food isn’t worth it. Not to me, anyway. JB and I don’t put up with a lot of bullshit when it comes to disciplinary issues, but food is generally off the list of things I’m willing to do battle over.

Except for Wafflegate, apparently, and if nothing else that certainly served to remind me that in the grand scheme of things, who cares if the kid won’t eat his Eggo? God knows it’s not like a bread product will ever go to waste in my house.

Comments

59 Responses to “Garbage in, garbage out”

  1. H on February 2nd, 2010 7:00 pm

    I had Livergate when I was young. My mom forced me to sit at the table until I ate all the liver. She should have seen this coming – knowing how stubborn I am. I waited and waited for her to back down. She didn’t. So I had a bite of liver, a drink of milk, a bite of liver, a drink of milk, and so on and so on and so on….until I barfed liver and milk all over the table. She’s never admitted it, but I think she regretted Livergate!

  2. Sonia on February 2nd, 2010 10:55 pm

    Oh. GAWD. Food battles, OY! I get it from the kid perspective though, having grown up with the Joan Crawford of stepfathers. Chicken potpies. I cannot even look a PHOTO of one without gagging. EVERY. Single. Night. He made me one for dinner while my mom worked, and he ate a juicy steak (my fav!) in front of me. I had to stay at the table until he was done, then I got stuffed in the corner on a chair until bedtime, and in the morning……wait for it……the potpie was waiting for me cold for breakfast. I tried, I really did. But to my 9 year old palate, it was vegetables swimming in snot gravy. I barfed every time I took the tiniest bite.
    My own kid HAAAAATES spaghetti. And has sensory issues, so he can’t even see spaghetti on someone else’s plate 6 tables away in a restaurant without gagging up his spleen. But I get it, so there’s no WAY I’d force him to eat spaghetti. Now, he loves waffles. If he did the same thing Riley did over the butter, you can bet your sweet ass I’d park that little shit at the kitchen island until that whole waffle was down the hatch. ;)

  3. Anonymous on February 3rd, 2010 7:39 am

    @Sonia

    that sounds awful! When I was young, it was totally a “we eat as a family” approach – as in if someone was terribly opposed to say, pot pie, then it just wasn’t part of the family dinner menu. Knowing the rest of the family was “sacrificing” to support your perspective really helped keep dramatics to a min.

    But my Dad’s 1st family – the ex did what your stepfather did with a cruel twist. Kids would get “kiddie” food – cheap, boiled, processed meats. And when Dad came home from work, after kiddos in bed, he would get “adult” food – steaks, etc – and a report of who didn’t eat their food. Dad didn’t know what crappy food they were getting, and the kids thought that the reason for crapfest was Dad. Real nice, huh?

    30 years later, this came to light due to a jealous comment made by a sibling about how Dad had changed over the years.

  4. Leah on February 3rd, 2010 7:54 am

    Ellyn Satter all the way, man! Anyone who does not enjoy food battles w/ their kids should check out Child of Mine by Ellyn Satter-it will make things so much easier. When my 4yo daughter looks at her plate and says she doesn’t like whatever it is, I say in a neutral tone that it’s fine, she doesn’t have to eat anything she doesn’t want to. I don’t make something else, but am sure the meal includes a reliably liked food such as bread/butter or pasta-and I let it go. It’s that simple. You’ll never battle w/ your child over food again…

  5. lucidkim on February 3rd, 2010 10:53 am

    Yes, have had my own versions of wafflegate…not as much because they won’t eat it exactly – but the reason why they won’t eat it. If they hate it – I get that – I hated lots of food as kid too – but when they refuse to eat something they normally like (or like when SOMEONE ELSE COOKS IT) and turn their nose up b/c of a dab of unmelted butter (say) – it is a battle of wills instead of food…and sometimes I just refuse to lose. French toast still brings back ugly memories at our house. That’s all I can say about that…

  6. lucidkim on February 3rd, 2010 11:01 am

    I want to add that mostly I just don’t make food a battle – and I’m the mom who *will* make something else or something special for the kid who doesn’t like what everyone else is having. I’m glad for those who became “adventurous” eaters b/c their parents insisted they eat whatever was served…my mom did the same and all it created in me was a lifetime of resentment for not being respected when I said “I don’t like it, I don’t want to eat it.” The battle over the french toast was not something I’ve repeated…but like I said, that wasn’t about the food.

  7. Sarah on February 3rd, 2010 11:02 am

    I also have a picky eater. He is now 11 and has grown out of some things. MY GOD…about two years ago he began to eat pizza and hamburgers! He used to turn his nose up if pancakes were a shade too dark or too light. AND he would otherwise only eat chicken nuggets. In NUGGET form ONLY! As he got older we adopted the rule “if you don’t like it you don’t eat”. It’s not worth the battle. My husband always says if he is hungry enough he’ll eat.

  8. Katie @ Can't Get There From Here on February 3rd, 2010 1:45 pm

    I am with you on the whole “Really? Fight about food?” thing. I think sometimes it gets to the point where I take issue with my picky eater’s tantrum, not the fact that it’s about food. I’d have chosen that battle no matter what it was over. Ya know?

  9. pixielation on February 7th, 2010 8:50 am

    White bread toast. Slathered in butter, melting gently. No nutritional value, and yet sooooo yummy.

    I remember my childhood – it was my brother who wouldn’t eat. My parents tried cajoling, shouting, forcefeeding, re-serving the same meal, and then eventually gave up and let him eat vegemite sandwiches.

    He’s 35 now, and pretty much won’t eat anything adventurous.

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