The boys started asking for chicken and dumplings two days ago…
Asking? Not really. More like begging.
But it’s summer and we’re in Florida. It’s freaking hotter than Hades up in here. I was hoping they’d just forget about it. Nope. Not that lucky.
I get it… shredded chicken, creamy sauce, yummy dumplings. Amazing. I make a mean Chicken and Dumplings.
So tonight (when they were at soccer practice) I began the process.
It’s not that chicken and dumplings is difficult to execute. It’s not even that chicken and dumplings is super labor intensive… under normal circumstances. But I have 3 kids. And there is nothing normal about having 3 kids and trying to make meals from scratch.
The 9-year-old loves and eats everything. Always with a please and a thank you. I would travel the world with Boy Wonder. And my first stop would be Japan or India. Boy Wonder would make us proud in any culinary situation. His love of food is the reason I learned to cook. And he’s pretty appreciative of my skills.
The Middle Monkey isn’t a fantastic eater. Compared to other kids his age he eats wonderfully… but by our family standards? He’s a shitty eater. Unless he wants to eat… and since he’s been asking for chicken and dumplings for days I thought this was a no brainer. But now… now?? Not so much. I get it. He’s 3. It’s all about power and control when you’re 3. 3 year old’s are like mini Napoleon.
We are all almost done with dinner and of course, Middle Monkey is starting his normal shit “I don’t like chicken. I don’t want this bite. I don’t like vegetables.” It’s enough to make a sane man crazy.
My poor Hubby. He is the sane man. He’s rational, he’s all heart and he loves his family. And while he’s sitting next to Middle Monkey saying “Have two more bites and then one more bite.” This is our normal coercion eating tactic with this child. I’m in the kitchen doing the dishes (already fed up) saying
“Just have him eat. Stop spooning it for him… Jeez. If he doesn’t want it that’s fine. No desert then.”
I’m not the sane one. I’ve lost my patience long ago. I’m the Pink Floyd parent… “If you don’t eat your meat you can’t have any pudding.”
I guess everyone has a breaking point. Cause that’s when Hubby broke. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him angry..
“I’m tired of you not eating! I’m tired of Mommy being mad! You can just go to bed RIGHT NOW!”
And with lighting speed Daddy hauled Middle Monkey off to his room and put him in a time out. You could hear the 3-year-old scream as he closed the door.
He saw the look of unhappiness on my face right away…
“What? This is ridiculous! You’re right. I get it.”
It’s not about being right. It’s about us not babying him.
“That’s why I finally said screw this.”
I know that babe, but you blamed it on me.
“I what? That’s insane!”
You said, “I’m tired of mommy being mad!”
“Well, I am. And you most definitely are.”
Yes, you are right on that, I am over this dinnertime bullshit dance he does. A dance that we let him do. But one minute you’re helping spoon-feed him and playing Lets Make a Deal, and the next… the next you banish him.
“Jeez, I did do that, didn’t I?”
Yup. So now I’m the Evil Queen and he’s Snow “one more” Bite.
“Good lord… I get it. I’ll go get the prince.”
Fingers crossed that dinnertime goes a bit better tomorrow evening.
The story of Snow White has been retold a million times over.
I’m not really a fan of fairy tales.