Tonawanda News — Dinnertime used to be different around our house. I’m having a hard time pinpointing what’s changed.
Perhaps my cooking isn’t quite what it used to be. It could be the delightfully flowery paper plates we bought. Maybe it’s the polar vortex freezing chunks of my brain into irrelevance.
Wait, I think I got it. Dinner used to be filling.
Nowadays, eating anything that would constitute a majority of my dinner would have to be considered a victory. Penny and Rigby are increasingly developing a vulture’s mentality when it comes to my dinner, hovering over my plate to see what’s ripe for the picking. (Or, in Rigby’s case, he sometimes simply helps himself and then asks me if he can have some while spraying small particles of my dinner back onto me.)
Picking at my food has almost become routine. Not only does my plate represent more food, but it also offers a welcome alternative to their meal. (Usually — one of the advantages of having children, after all, is to be able to eat macaroni and cheese or dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets in a socially acceptable manner.) Why eat what they originally wanted when there’s an alternative — any alternative — available?
I know they’re growing, but there are certain days during which they can really pack it in. Days during which I make extra anticipating they might be a bit more hungry and they STILL need more. Days during which I can merely sit back and wonder what our food budget will be like when they hit their teens ... and cry. (If you care to send a dollar to help out, then feel free.)
Mind you, they still have their “little kid” days during which they repel food like Randy resisting his mashed potatoes in “A Christmas Story.” But even on their least “eating days,” I never have to simulate a pig wallowing in potatoes to prompt them to eat.