“I don’t like this. It looks yucky.”
“Mari. It’s lasagna. If food could copulate and make babies, lasagna would be the offspring of pizza and spaghetti. Those are like, your two favorite foods.”
*crickets chirping* (She’s probably trying to use context clues to figure out what “copulate” means.)
I sigh. “Look Mari, you can’t just decide that you don’t like something because you think it looks funny. You have to at least taste it.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“I realize you don’t want to. But you have to.”
Begins to cry: “But mommy, I really, really, reeeeeally don’t want to! It really does look yucky!”
As we’re arguing, my lasagna is getting cold. And I’m f*cking hungry. “Mari. You know what? Eat the salad. Fine if you don’t want to eat the lasagna. I don’t even care. I just want to eat my food in peace.” I scrape her lasagna off of her plate and onto mine. (It’s not as if my “diet” ever had a chance in hell of succeeding anyway…)
“But I don’t waaaaaaaaant to eat just salad!”
“Then eat. The freakin’. Lasagna.”
“Noooooo! I want to eat something different!”
“Well, this is what I made.” Annnnd now I’m yelling: “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE! THIS IS NOT A RESTAURANT! I AM NOT A COOK! YOU EAT WHAT I SERVE OR YOU STARVE! THAT’S HOW IT IS!”
Sobbing: “But I want you to make me something eeeeeeeeeelse! WAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
I calculate how quickly I could pack an overnight bag and run screaming from my house to go stay at a hotel for the night. Just one night.
I grit my teeth: “Mari. You have to stop screaming and crying. Everyone wants to sit and eat their food in peace. When you scream and cry, you make it difficult for others to enjoy their food.”
“WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”
“Okay, NO. This is insane. Mari, you have to try the lasagna. That’s all there is to it. There is NO WAY you’re not going to like it. It’s a freakin’ pizza-spaghetti baby! One bite! That’s all I ask! Please!” My voice has the begging quality of someone standing on the end of a plank being poked in the spine with a pirate’s sword.
“NO!!! I don’t want to! It looks YUCKY!”
I take a deep breath. “Mari. You have two choices here: you can either take a bite of the lasagna, or you can go to time-out.”
“I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A BITE!”
“Then you’re going to time-out.”
“NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”
“Yes.”
I pick her up under her arm-pits and walk her to the laundry room. I sit her down and say, “When you’re ready to come back to the table quietly, with no screaming and crying, and when you’re ready to try one single little bite of lasagna, you may come out of time-out. I’m not going to tell you when to come out. You can come out any time you are ready to try a bite of lasagna. Without crying.”
Sobbing: “OHHHH-KAYYYYYYY!!!”
I return to the table and inhale way too much f*cking lasagna, trying to chew as loudly as possible to block out the sound of Mari’s wailing.
Ten minutes later, she comes out. “I’m ready to try a bite of lasagna.” Said calmly.
In my head: WTF?!?
Aloud: “Oh, I’m so happy you made such a smart decision!”
She trudges listlessly to the table like she’s walking the green mile.
I offer her a tiny bite of lasagna from my fork, and she opens her mouth ever so timidly, as though the lasagna could suddenly explode into a giant monster and chew her face off. Finally, she has successfully chewed and swallowed one tiny piece of a lasagna noodle with hardly any sauce.
She thinks for a moment.
I say, “So?”
“You know… I think I liked that one little bite. But not that much.”
I am holding back laughter now. “Okay, well you tried it and mommy is very proud of you for trying it. That’s all mommy and daddy ever ask of you, is that you try it. We would never force you to eat something you truly thought tasted yucky.”
Mari begins to eat her salad, but keeps looking over at my plate. “Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“I was just thinking that… maybe I would like to have some more lasagna. And maybe with a little bit more of that red sauce… because I think I like that stuff maybe a little bit… but not that much.”
I get up from the table and do a back-flip as a trumpet-fanfare and a chorus of angels erupts in the background. In my head.
Aloud: “Well I would be more than happy to share some more lasagna with you!”
I scoop a few more bites onto her plate.
She eats it all.
The next day, our eight-year-old neighbor offers her some seaweed (seriously, f*cking SEAWEED???) and she immediately devours it without complaint.
***
19 Comments
Until you said she ate the seaweed, I thought this was what you’d seen in my dining room, and were telling it as though it were you and your kid to spare me the embarrassment. Because, seriously, lasagna? WFT? IT’S NOODLES AND SAUCE AND CHEESE AND YOU LOVE ALL OF THESE THINGS SO JUST EAT THE GODDAMNED LASAGNA ALREADY. Ahem. Pardon my outburst. I just don’t understand WHY WHY WHY?? It drives me to the edge of my sanity. But then, I suppose I have a continued excuse for my drinking. So I guess there’s that.
Oh, yes. That reminds me; I have wine. Thank you.
So been there! Mine eats EEL! But not mashed potatoes. Go figure!
Yeah mine won’t touch a potato unless it’s been deep-fried and smothered in salt.
Are you peeking in my windows? Sounds familiar!
I might’ve been, a little. It’s RESEARCH, okay?
Bravo Mom!! I did the same thing with my kids. If they refused to eat what I made, I didn’t cave and make them something else. Amazingly enough, when I stuck to my guns, they became willing to try new things. Funny how that happens….. 🙂
The usual advice is “Keep putting new foods in front of them. Eventually they’ll try it.” That is total bullshit. You have to force them.
Amen Sister, Amen!!!
This gives me hope! Well played and brilliantly told! (But my kids won’t touch pasta. Arghhh)!
I’ll never make my kids eat something they’ve tried. I just want them to TRY IT. That’s all I ask. xo
HA HA HA! Looks like you need to introduce her to sushi! 🙂
Right? My son eats sushi, but so far I can only get Mari to eat the seaweed itself. But I think the real crux of the issue is that she accepts new things more readily from people WHO ARE NOT ME. Grrrr. lol
Lasagna is definitely the love-child of pizza and spaghetti. My 8yo won’t touch it. Freak.
I don’t understand it! I drool just thinking about lasagna!
I feel your pain! What is it with kids and whining/crying at the dinner table?! My 4yo does it about things she has eaten BEFORE a thousand dang times! This post was a pleasure to read! <3
Meh. They’re kids. (I keep telling myself. Over and over and over.)
Oh how familiar this sounds and this is exactly the reason I have chronic heartburn. Trying to eat under these conditions equals pure torture and gross… especially when everything always gets smothered with ketchup.
There have been times when I stuck my food in the microwave and ate after they went to bed. :-/