Apparently, this is worth three weeks' allowance
Have I mentioned that our daughter is a picky eater?
Complicating matters, she is also a Capricorn, which makes her stubborn by nature, according to my wife. We have certainly tired of the nightly arguments over what’s for dinner. It seems no matter what we do it’s never quite right.
This morning our 10-year-old–who wished for nothing more than wasabi peas and Altoid mints when she was a toddler, who loves fried calamari, fettucini Alfredo and Caesar salad (preferably with home-made croutons)–would have nothing that we were offering for breakfast.
“Why do I have to eat grapefruit every day?” she protested.
We offered to make her pancakes, but she only wanted them with either fresh raspberries or chocolate chips. We only had blackberries and frozen blueberries. Apparently, she’s no longer eating blueberries, even though we used to put them routinely in breakfast smoothies.
Finally, she tried to sneak upstairs with a box of Peanut Butter Panda Puffs. We stopped her and told her she had to eat them in the kitchen. “I don’t want to eat in the kitchen,” she complained, and dropped the cereal.
Next we saw her, she was rummaging through our file of carryout menus and putting together an order of her favorite Thai foods for delivery. “You owe me $19 for three weeks’ allowance,” she grumbled.
At precisely 12:30 pm, when the restaurant opened, daughter placed her order for tofu soup, panang tofu and spring rolls. Total price: $18.38. Of course the restaurant doesn’t start delivery service until later in the evening. So dad had to trudge out in a snow storm to pick it up. (And when I got there, the charge was actually $22.50. Daughter owes us $3.50 from next week’s allowance.)
How does such a child spring from the marriage of a professional catering chef (mom) and a kitchen-gardening “food appreciation” instructor (me)?
“This is a power struggle,” my wife assures me. “It has nothing to do with food.”
Still thinking of having children?
We are engaging the concerns of a hungry planet--slowly--right here in our kitchen garden in the District of Columbia, about a mile from the White House.
I’m laughing out loud, Ed. Very, very funny.
Catching up after a hiatus and read this post. I can confirm that your wife is totally correct. My bull-headed daughter started digging in her heels at about age 3 1/2, but her serious pickiness lasted only 18 years or so. The cure was moving away from home. :-/