We had a gay ol’ time at our place last night. A full-blown meltdown of epic proportion as my daughter kicked and screamed for the better part of an hour to petition what we chose to have for dinner. It contained such classics as:
“I hate that.”
“I’m starving.”
“My stomach is eating itself.”
“Please! I’m sooooooooooo hungry!”
Lest you think we are wicked, evil parents… she was offered pasta, peanut butter on crackers, cheese and crackers, fish sticks with French fries, chicken noodle soup, chicken fingers, and cereal. Alas, clearly we were depriving her of her first-world right to whatever her heart fancied at the moment.
It is so frustrating to have a pantry, fridge and freezer full of food but still hear how there is nothing to eat. I made such compelling arguments as:
“If you were really starving, you’d eat anything.”
“Clearly there is no way you are cut out for Survivor.”
and “Why don’t you call a child in a third-world country and ask them what hungry feels like?”
I figure at the end of the day it didn’t really matter what we were offering – it was a control thing. And we stuck to our guns until the bitter end. We avoided calling an arbitrator and she finally succumbed to French fries and soup… after an hour of battling tooth and nail. There’s just no winning sometimes…
I love the “call a kid in a third world country” argument. Harkens back to the day of “kids in {insert country with newsworthy famine} would give anything to have your dinner!” I remember shouting back “then send it to them!”
That did not go over well.