Baby Steps

Oh, the work continues on domesticating our children (who were taught by their grandfather the beauty of a food fight). With threats of lifelong cotillion classes dangling before them, they are improving. I only had to remind Gavin to RESPOND when people talk to you three times this weekend, and Alex keeps at least one elbow off the table during meals. Gracie for the most part stays in the kitchen during dinner now, albeit hunkering underneath the table taking care of the crumbs. And then there's the other one, who still insists the four-year-old man can survive on Fun Dip alone.

Mr. Picky is showing progress. Tonight, when I placed a bowl of taco soup in front of him for dinner and the faces and guttural noises began, Michael warned, "Blake, remember your manners--what do we say when Mommy gives you dinner?"

"No, thank you."

I think we're ready for Denny's.

Mac and Cheese--It's What's for Dinner

I hate dinner time. There, I said it. Despite it being the only time of the day we're all together in one room; despite the utter adorableness of my kids' comments when we do "Highs and Lows"; and despite the fact that this time period involves doing my absolute favorite thing in the world--i.e. eating, I'm so over it. Why? Because this is all I hear from one empty little whining mouth at my table:

"Ewwww! This looks GWOSS!"

"I HATE this!"

"I'm not eating this!"

"Yek! Bleck!" (followed by impressive gagging)

"Mommy, why can't I just throw this at the people with no food in Haiti?"

I know I shouldn't complain. Three out of four are GREAT eaters. But child #3 makes me want to starve to death, or abandon family dining altogether. He refuses to eat anything that isn't breaded and shaped like a dinosaur, or saturated in processed cheese. And I just don't make those meals often. And he reminds us of his utter depravity throughout our ENTIRE meal, to the point where I even start to think dinner is just kind of "gwoss."

We've tried plugging his nose, shoving it in, sneaking it in, time-outs, bribery, early bedtimes, blackmail and the poor kid hasn't had dessert in over a year. But he doesn't care!

I've never been one to make back-up meals for the picky eaters in my house. "You eat it or you starve" has been my kitchen mantra. But when a recent doctor's visit revealed Blakey is LOSING weight, I've decided to abandon yet one more motherhood ideal.

So starting tonight, guess what Blakey's having for dinner? And we're ALL about as happy as this guy...