I’m not telling!

Invariably as I stand at the stove I will be approached five or six times with the question:

“What’s for dinner?”

“Food,” I say.

“What kind of food?”

“The kind that you eat.”

“I mean, what’s in it?

“Meat. And some vegetables.”

Every night.

It probably seems rude to you, huh? But I have my reasons.

Let’s say they are unhappy about the answer. Now I have wailing, weeping and gnashing of teeth. They don’t WANT that kind of dinner. YUCKY, DISGUSTING, UGLY dinner. They are never going to eat again. They only want something yummy. Blah, blah, blah. They go through the house crying about their fate. They lament the fact that they have never had even a morsel of anything delicious while living in this house. They discuss all the places they have heard of, or perhaps even been to, where acceptable food has been provided to their ailing, withering tastebuds. They hurl epithets at the meal, saying that it is worse than anything they could think of – even liver! They speak longingly of such ethereal fantasy places as “Aunty Beccah’s House” and “Grandma’s House” and “Mormor’s House,” where they would never be served anything so awful. They plan aloud to leave and move in with neighbors who would certainly share their culinary preferences. *

OK, now let’s say the kids are happy with what I tell them. Now I have to deal with an ear-splitting “YAY!” and the news travels on wings throughout the house. “We’re having XXXX!!” must be repeated far and wide, in louder and louder tones, to everyone individually. This usually wakes the baby, whose lovely nap is the only reason I’m able to prepare dinner the first place. Nice. When they’re done shouting from the rooftops, they all traipse in and step on my feet to try to get a good look at the yumminess they crave.  If I can manage to get them appointed to jobs that keep them far enough away from me that I can actually open a drawer or turn around without elbow-thwacking someone or stepping on a toe, I still need to hear about twenty seven bajillion times, “When are we eating? When will dinner be ready? Why isn’t Papi home yet?”

And then there’s the matter of changing tastes. Just when I am so sure that I have created the perfect meal that is a crowd-pleaser, one they have all claimed is their favoritest, most deliciousest meal in the entire universe, and Mommy can you make this every day? I feel confident enough to announce or unveil the meal, and someone (or two or four) has decided that actually, they never liked this, and they don’t prefer any, thank you.


So, rude? Yeah, I can see that.  But I’m still not telling.


*(I’m not asking for parenting advice. Just trying to write a humorous post about true life that I know some of my friends can relate to. Thanks in advance.)
This entry was posted in A Day in the Life, Children, Cooking, Real Food. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to I’m not telling!

  1. Esther says:

    I do the same thing! and for the same reason… If they press me further I’ll tell them something like, “Well, okay, I’ll tell you: It’s lizard eyes, snail toes, and spider legs with a bed of watercress ’round it. No, no, don’t thank me.”

  2. Haha… I used to say it was edible. I completely get this… (and yes, I believe my children added that word to their vocabulary at a young age. I said it a lot-no you can’t eat that it’s not edible…).

  3. Katherine Lauer says:

    I can’t believe I never thought of this before. I need to stop answering what we’re having for dinner, for all the above reasons except I suffer through them with only two verbal complainers so far. But I have more growing up, so I’ve got to get wiser about this!

  4. Kerri says:

    Oh. My. Goodness. Are you sure you were not taping a pre-dinner conversation here at my house? I say the SAME thing. My kids hate it when I do that. With all their wailing I just tell them that they have to cook their own food then. Somehow they manage to choke down what I was cooking 🙂


  5. Sally says:

    Hello, I’ve only just discovered your blog. This post is hilariously written! It’s nice to have a laugh so thank you.

  6. Pingback: Accidental dinner | Socks on the Line

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