I just had to reassure SB that hot dogs aren’t actually made out of DOGS, and a very funny friend of mine said on Facebook, “just wait until he discovers Girl Scout Cookies”. Really?
So here’s how it goes at our house. I buy food. SB (small boy) either shovels it in his mouth with great enthusiasm, or he acts like I’m serving him a plate full of poison.
The trick, I’ve figured out, is in the sales pitch. I can’t call string cheese by its name because he’s decided, at the ripe old age of two, that he hates cheese. So I call it “silly string” and he’ll eat it. Those fruity/vegetable bars are called “raisin candy” and he eats those too. Sucker.
Before I was a real parent, I couldn’t understand what the big deal was. You cook something, they eat it, end of story. So as you can imagine, reality has been quite a kick in the _____.
Mealtime can go one of two ways:
A Good Meal (shoveling scenario):
I cook food, and if it’s something that the dictator in diapers approves of, two handed shoveling begins. If I’ve really done a bang up job, MORE is requested at an urgent pitch to ensure he doesn’t starve to death and keel over at the table.
A Bad Meal (poison scenario):
Our dog gets covered in rice/spaghetti/corn, etc. Then the rest of my evening involves picking food out of a very furry dog. Hilarity ensues.
Loud, anguished yelling begins. If he’s really feeling feisty, the plate of terrible awful revolting poison gets shoved across the table, leaving us to intercept it before it hits the floor – a fun family game of table hockey! Oh boy!
Sometimes I have him help pick out what he wants (I know…) – we always have a big time at Costco or Trader Joes since they give away samples. And this is where I get fooled EVERY time. He loves the samples, so like a dummy I buy whatever it is if it’s reasonably healthy. Then we scurry home, my heart leaping with joy and excitement over the concept that he might actually EAT SOMETHING NEW, and then at dinner he looks at me like I’m trying to kill him and we start another lively game of table hockey. I’m now convinced that he likes the little cups the samples come in, not the food.
It’d be harder for him to play table hockey with little cups, so maybe I’m on to something. Or we could just eat all our meals at Costco