First this post was going to be about something ridiculous that my son said to me today. But now it has morphed into a mommy complaining post. To begin the story, there is a little news, I got a job. Just part time at Michaels. I work 3, 5 hour shifts a week and its when the kids are in school. I have been so busy. I started working at the beginning of the month and I have been so busy with extra stuff like birthdays and coffees and Halloween parties that I have been going non stop. I really never get to sit down anymore. But today, I was feeling pretty good about my ability to handle the new schedule and get everything done. I even considered myself a wonder woman of sorts. That was around 2:30 pm. Then my kids got home at 3, and that all changed.
Tonight for dinner we had hamburgers, homemade potato salad and chips. I was proud of myself for taking the time to make the potato salad from scratch. I knew the kids would love the hamburgers and chips; well I thought they would. When Tyson asked me what was for dinner and I told him he said "I was having a good day until now!!" Apparently he was angry with me that we were having hamburgers and not hot dogs. He proclaimed that his day would be salvaged if I would only add hot dogs to the menu. I refused on a matter of principle. My kids don't get to tell me what we are having, nor do they get to pick and choose what they will or wont eat!!! Oh, and I'm not a short order cook either. So I was annoyed, but I let it go. I figured I would blog about it and vent my annoyance to the world wide web.
Then dinner time came. Tyson still wasn't thrilled about the hamburger thing but he was willing to choke 1/2 of one down. But then came the dreaded, miserable, disgusting, revolting, awful, potato salad. I gave each of the kids one small spoonful, I promise they were small. Tyson put one spoonful in his mouth and started to gag, he actually looked like he would throw up. By this point I had had it!! I was so furious!! I am sick and tired of making nice meals for my family and then all they do is complain. I can't believe that a dinner of hamburgers and potato salad could make my son physically gag at the table. I finally couldn't even look at him he made me so mad. Then Emma and Zach started in and would only pick out the egg pieces. What has happened to my world? What can I do to make my children appreciate good food and not be so ungrateful? AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Oh, and just so you know this complaining about what I cook for dinner is a pretty regular occurrence around here and I have had enough!!! Ron thinks we should start feeding them bread and water. What do you think?
5 comments:
say when grace and bread & water will be the only menu for my kids too-strength in numbers right?:) i'm so hearing you loud & clear(same problem at my house-and yes, i'm also tired of it).
I say, the next time they complain they have to make a nice dinner for the family the next day from scratch including planning it out, going to the grocery store, etc. And it can't be a cheater frozen dinner meal, either. Maybe then they'll learn not to complain, and they might just get some of their own back if their siblings don't like it!
Totally do the bread and water thing. Teach them a lesson!
First let me say you are reaping what you have sewn as as a child you were quite picky. However, those boys need a slap on the mouth, you know the slap when they start to open thier mouth and you hit them in a way that thier lips are smashed against thier teeth in an awkward manner. That is the slap they neeed. For a small fee i can be flown in to administer this slap in a way that will both shock and cause fear. Mason
Ron cracks me up!!! But I have to agree with Jacque - any family member who complains earns the responsibility to plan and cook a meal. The kids can learn to respect each other's efforts and hopefully through the experience can learn to respect your efforts. I don't see any reason for kid participation to end once the lesson is learned - you need all the help you can get and it is a great life skill to learn.
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