Last night, I made chicken cacciatore for dinner. You would have thought I made liver & onions. I smothered the chicken with spaghetti sauce and melted mozzarella, but to no avail. They were not eating it. I felt myself getting huffy and exclaimed, "When I was a kid, my mother made me eat liver for dinner! Do you know what liver tastes like? It is the most disgusting thing in the world! I was not even allowed to leave the table until I ate what was on my plate!" Memories always come back to me when I think of the times my siblings and I had to eat something we didn't like. The time my brother tape-recorded my pitiful crying when I had to eat my vegetables, my sister hiding her food in her napkin, the sun setting and I'm still sitting there refusing to eat the nastiness, the times my father would threaten to make me eat my own vomit if I threw up. After dinner, my father would also say, "Do the dishes." What he actually meant was clean the whole kitchen from top to bottom. Not only do the dishes, but clean the kitchen counter, wash the table, sweep the floor, etc. etc. He would often joke that he had four dishwashers. When my mom stood at the stove cooking dinner, the mouth-watering smell wafted throughout the house and we would follow our noses into the kitchen and ask what was for dinner. Whenever we heard it was liver, our evening immediately went down the tubes. We all knew that it would be a torment to sit at the table and cough down the cow organ. I often wondered how something that smelled so good while it was cooking could taste so bad once it hit the plate. I think of the many battles at the table my parents had to deal with during my childhood as I look at the pitiful faces of my sons as they move their chicken around on their plates with their forks in one hand and their chins in the other. I remember the wails and whines of my brothers and sister. I recall the threats and the spankings and I made a decision. I told them to leave the table immediately. I know I am a bad parent for not making them eat every bite, but I realized that this is one battle that I just don't want. Because of the world we live in, there are bigger battles coming and I have to save my strength.
They instructed me to make sure I have a full bladder on arriving for my ultrasound. Ha. I almost laughed in their faces. Pregnant me plus a full bladder equals a disaster. On my son's birthday back in March, I had to drive all the kids home afterward. I had drunk a lot of water and couldn't believe I had forgotten what happens to me when I drink too much water with no bathroom nearby when I'm pregnant. I counted the minutes till I got home all the while breaking the law and speeding trying to keep in mind not to drive too recklessly screaming at the poky people in front of me. It brought to mind the very first time I experienced a full bladder as a pregnant woman. It was my first baby and my husband was in the Air Force. So, when we had an ultrasound we went to the Academy in Colorado Springs. They told me to drink an astronomical amount of water before I came. I did so and then we started out for the half hour drive to the hospital. By the time we were on the ...
Comments
Well, sorry that your kiddos don't like chicken cacchiatore...I love the stuff so you can make it for me ANYTIME!:)
~Danielle
(sis)
I've known too many friends who had physical issues going on that made eating certain things very uncomfortable for them. Since they were too young to verbalize it to their parents, they had to deal with their bodies reacting badly to certain foods. I'm afraid we are with you on not wanting meal time a battle time either. I'll be a bad parent with you.