Edvard Munch had a Two-Year Old
You know this painting?
I’ve decided he must have had a two-year old son who decided dinner time was Scream Like a Gorram Lunatic Time.
Operation: The Kids Eat What We Eat is going well. And by “well” I mean “someone get me a shot of vodka so I can pour it directly in my eye for the fastest way to Happy Town.”
Actually Charlotte is doing really well. I’ve been extra aware to include her in the meal preparations. Last night was Sweet N Tangy BBQ meatballs, asparagus, and buttercup squash. She helped me put all of the ingredients in the KitchenAid and when the meat was formed, she helped me roll them into balls. She even made “super tiny ones” for her and Sawyer.
She was very proud of her meatballs and asked me to take pictures of her with them:
She helped me break the asparagus (did you know instead of cutting the bottoms off you just bend the stalk and where it breaks is the natural point of freshness?) and pour the beef stock over them in the baking dish. (Pouring a shallow coating homemade beef stock over vegetables and then braising them in the oven is incredibly delicious.)
She helped me scoop out the seeds in the squash.
And when it came time for dinner, I used the tried and true method of making food fun and put frilly toothpicks in each of the kids’ mini meatballs:
I gave them BBQ and ketchup to dunk them in, figuring they could choose their preference.
Charlotte ate all of her meatball and had seconds. She tried her asparagus, deemed it tasted “like a tree; not that bad” and had a few bites of squash. Did she shove down the vegetables? No. But she ate all the meatballs and all the diced peaches I had given her. And she TRIED everything.
Sawyer? Licked the ketchup and then screamed. Literally screamed. For almost an hour straight. He tried pushing his plate off the table after eating all the peaches (and ketchup). He threw himself on the floor. He got so mad at one point, he bit his own hand. Oh, it was epic, people. He got up and tried to open the fridge himself, yelling like a broken-hearted lover pulling at the door: “CHEEEEEEEEESE! CHEESEEE!!”
But we did not give in. We ate and cleaned up and put them in their pajamas. Eventually he calmed down and they had a late-night snack (as they often do but I always makse sure it’s healthy) of a few slices of cheese. Part of me feels guilty that I denied my child dinner. But the other part knows that this is just a phase that will phase (Right? Please tell me it will pass. Otherwise, I’m gonna lose what thread of sanity I cling to.)
Did giving him the cheese later that night undo the work we did not giving in at dinner? I mean, I don’t even mind putting cheese and fruit on his plate every night as long as he sits down and tries everything. But last night was a scene from Chucky minus the butcher knife and believe you me if there wasn’t a child lock on the knife drawer, I’m not so sure he wouldn’t have had one in hand “CHEEEEEEEEEEEESEEEEEEE!”
So I guess one kid doing well is better than a total mutiny, right? It’ll get better right?
Tonight is build your own pizza night (Mike and I use my homemade grain-free pizza crust), so maybe he’ll love me again. Or at least not try and murder me over cheese.