One thing I enjoy doing is cooking. I have been known to spend the whole day in the kitchen preparing, making and cooking. On days like that I drive my partner crazy, however, when the end product is served up it gets eaten in one go, seconds and at times third helpings are had.I especially like making lasagna. I make my own pasta sheets, ragu and bechamel sauce.
It takes hours to make, the kitchen is a mess and takes up the rest of the evening to clean everything up.
Through it all, I’m smiling, especially when I see the satisfied look on everyone’s face.
I’m not saying I’m a great chef or a marvellous cook. I’m not too bad and my repertoire is limited but it’s the look of satisfaction that I thrive on. That special occasion and the knowledge that I did it all myself.
Those moments are far and few in between.
Not because of time. Time is relative and can be manipulated to suit our needs.
That is not the issue at all.
The problem is fussiness.
I don’t know how or when it started but feeding time has become hard work.
My second and third eat pretty much anything. It would be easier to mention what they don’t eat.
For example: my second doesn’t eat much dairy, doesn’t like butter in her sandwiches, but loves a load of cheese on her pasta. She would rather sit with a jar of pickled gherkins or a tub of tomatoes instead of having sweets.
Alongside my third; give them a plate of steamed vegetables and they are away with it (this includes brussel sprouts).
My fifth is starting to get to grips with the different types of food. She loves homemade food and will eat until her stomach can’t handle it anymore. Due to her age, we are introducing her to new foods to determine what she actually likes.
Now come the harder ones.
Our fourth will not eat fruit or vegetables.
Okay, that’s not strictly true but it does feel that way. She will eat apples, bananas and raw peppers. Everything else is hidden in her food.
The bolognese has grated carrots and minced mushrooms. The mash has to have gravy on (which is made with the vegetable water), or she won’t eat it. She only recently started eating pizza and to many peoples dismay, she doesn’t like ketchup. However, what she likes, she will finish.
My first is the most difficult eater I have ever met.
I can’t post what she likes or dislikes because it all depends on her mood.
The other day she was eating sprouts out of her mother’s plate, tomorrow she won’t go near them. Her pizza is as plain as can be and the more junk you feed her the better. Ask her what she wants for dinner and she’ll name every fast food restaurant. It’s only when we said ‘no’ to her list that she makes a suggestion and it’s always contrary to what her sisters have asked for.
I guess that can be said about most kids. But then, most kids, even after a tantrum, will eat their food, I guess, or am I fooling myself?
We have now had to abolish ketchup from their diets because it gets them high and they bounce off the walls. The tantrums that had brought were apocalyptic, the end of the world as they knew it, especially when they realised that we had no choice but to go through with the abolishment of the stuff.
Probably, the fact that my parents like reminding me that I used to lambs brain when I was little makes it harder for me to be fussy.
I wouldn’t eat the stuff now, the idea makes my stomach churn and the fact that some high end restaurants serve it as a delicacy…. I haven’t got many words to express how I’m churning inside.
To make it worse, tripe in a tomato sauce is widely enjoyed where my mum comes from. From my dad’s country….I have never seen men enjoy the eating of goats genitalia so much as when it’s in sauce and they are dipping their bread.
I tried both dishes and it’s not something I want to try again.
So in a way I am fussy too, but I believe I am being reasonable, in a sort of way.
Now, going back to my former joy for cooking.
It’s hard to rekindle the joy I once had when they want chocolate as an entrée, chicken dippers and chips as a main and for dessert chocolate covered in cream and marshmallows.
I tried homemade burgers, which seemed to work for a little while until they decided to start poking it instead of eating it.
It used to take me three hours to make a bolognese sauce, I used to tend to it like a baby. Now it takes five minutes, and unless it’s doused in cheese it doesn’t get eaten.
They won’t even eat a gammon joint covered in maple syrup.
What planet are my children from?
Maybe I’m the strange one and what the kids are doing is perfectly normal.
Maybe I was fussy as well, I just don’t remember and that one thing remains as an ingrained memory for how gross it was.
I had visions of us sitting together at the dinner table having a massive meal as one big family. Of course they are still young and could grow out of this phase, or I’m enamoured with these big scenes that we see in the movies.
There are still days when I look at the kitchen and think, I could make a massive meal, but when I think ‘what?’ the feeling quickly goes. I might get it back when they grow older and have my movie scene, once a week and not only Christmas Day!