Caitlin has schizophrenic dining habits that can be pretty frustrating. On the one hand she would totally subsist on string cheese, McDonald’s chicken nuggets, bread, and apple juice. On the other hand, she will readily chow down on raw broccoli and spinach.
I come from a long line of stubborn, strong-willed females so she and I frequently clash and mealtime seems ripe with opportunities for her to yank my mama chain. I have to learn to pick my battles, but I am also not running a bed and breakfast. Last time I checked there weren’t any menus in my hand and I wasn’t wearing a name tag that says, “Howdy, may I take your order?” The other morning Caitlin declared that she wanted cinnamon toast for breakfast and thinking that it was as easy as opening up the Sara Lee cinnamon bread (that stuff is great…especially if you are me and don’t like big raisins in your bread…no wonder my 4-year-old is picky). But no, she wanted homemade cinnamon toast like the hubby’s mom makes. The first piece was toasted too dark and I ate it. The second piece was just right with the perfect blend of butter, cinnamon, and sugar.
The hubby introduced Caitlin to that just off the exit ramp road trip mainstay known as the Waffle House during Christmas break. She inhaled a large waffle and a few strips of bacon. Not only did she love the food, but she loved the entire Waffle House experience. The hubby said she was quite fascinated with the waitresses shouting customer orders above the din of the bustling restaurant.
I’m sure we will continue to have battles in the kitchen and I will find myself yelling once again, “THIS IS NOT A RESTAURANT! YOU EAT WHAT MOMMY AND DADDY ARE EATING!” Or, if I’m feeling particularly soft, I might yell, “HOT WAFFLE FOR THE LITTLE BLONDIE AT THE TABLE!”