No Short Orders, Just Short Tempers

I had a breakdown last week.  I finally had it out with being a short-order cook around here.  I've complained and complained many times over that I have a family full of picky eaters.  I'm sick and tired of it and I can't take any more!!

I grocery shop every Monday and plan the meals for the week.  We stick to them for the most part, occasionally delaying one until the next week to make a run for Chipotle or order a pizza on a busy night.  But you can bet your home that, when I announce what we're having for dinner, someone will complain.  It's as sure as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening.

Last Monday, we planned on grilling out.  That is one of two or three meals that makes everyone happy.  Still, it's not like I can only grill one thing.  It's got to be cheeseburgers, made 3 different ways, and hot dogs, made 2 different ways.  It still ain't easy.  I don't even care for hamburgers or hot dogs, I just go with it every week or two just so I don't have to hear the complaining.

Anyhow, it ended up raining cats and dogs last Monday.  We were planning to cook over our fire pit, which had 2" deep puddles in it.  Because of that, I decided to delay Monday's meal and cook Tuesday's tacos instead.  Tacos are definitely in my top three favorite dinners.

Someone, I won't say who, heard the news about tacos instead of burgers.  He said- well, kind of yelled, "I am NOT eating tacos!  I don't like them and you know I don't like them!  I am NOT eating them!"  I was taken off guard, but kept my cool.  "Fine," I replied.  "I'm done then.  Y'all can make what you want from now on.  I'm not cooking any more."  I stormed out of the kitchen, changed into running clothes, and fled the house.  There was a bit more drama involved, but those are the bullet points.

The kids couldn't believe it.  Mom isn't cooking any more!  I also managed to declare that no one gets the easy way out either.  No pizzas, no McDonald's, no Chipotle.  You can fix something for yourself with the groceries that are here at the house.  There was still some confusion as to what was going on in this typically happy home.  I informed my family members that they can eat grilled cheese, boxed macaroni, or frozen pizza.  There's always peanut butter in the cupboard, which is what I ended up eating.

This continued for the entire week.  I refused to cook.  I was not giving in.  Finally, on Thursday, the apology came.  It wasn't long and detailed, but it came.  I was ready for a truce.  "There are two options," I said.  "Everyone can make their own dinner every night, but there will be no going out to eat.  You're stuck with what's here.  OR, I can start cooking again.  If I cook, there are going to be some huge changes.  You're stuck with what I make.  No one is refusing to eat and going to bed without dinner.  If I make it, you're eating it.  Also, there will be no complaining.  I don't want to hear that you don't like dinner.  Sit down, shut up, and eat.  Finally, I will not be announcing what I'm making.  I'm tired of being asked that question 6 times a day and hearing complaints.  You'll see what's for dinner when you sit down at the table."

Mama's on the warpath...

Option #2 was chosen.  SO...I decided to hit it hard.  This week, I am making all brand new things that I've never made before.  They probably will not be well received, yet I am prepared.  Maybe the fam will appreciate the way it's been up to this point and will beg to have things go back to the way they were.

On Monday, I had a youth group meeting that included dinner.  I decided to give them one last day of freedom before I grew my Hitler mustache.  They ordered pizza.

The remaining nights are going to be brand new recipes (to me).  I plan on sharing them with you, along with a story of how they went over.  Stay tuned...