I think I can write a whole book about my hurt feelings from dinners that have been rejected by my family.
I have handled all other aspects of motherhood quite well I think including but not limited to – running on 2 hours of sleep for longer than any human should, a messy home, bottomless laundry, dark eye circles, permanent belly pooch, cellulite, sharing my art supplies, constantly putting sh*t away, tantrums, sibling fights, sharing my king-size bed to sleep on a sliver smaller than a gymnast’s beam, poop explosions, poop explosions on one’s self and all around, flat tire with all kids undelivered to their respective schools, and on and on.
But the one thing that I haven’t mastered yet is dealing with rejection of food that I cook.
I am not a super cook or anything. But I do recall a time not that far in the distance when friends loved eating what I made. [ Unless they were being polite every single time I suppose? ]
These days, the only feedback I get for cooking – anything – is “yuck”, “ew”, or if I am lucky “I don’t want that.” If I am super lucky – like early Christmas miracle lucky – everyone will eat in silence and get it over with as quickly as possible.
It hurts. It hurts so very much and I haven’t quite mastered how to handle these feelings like I have all other parts of rejections and hardships of motherhood. I know it’s just a phase common to all children, but I am not sure I can survive it without hating cooking forever.
Leaving you with the most recent rejected dinner of summer vegetable cous cous with roasted chicken.