But you can't move.
We're having a bit of a war over here. It's not a REAL war, no no. It's a rather frivolous war, but I'm taking it deadly serious because I'm a bit stubborn.
My mom is screaming "DUUUUH!" at the computer screen right now.
Yeah, so I'm a big stubborn poohead. And apparently, so are my kids. And therein lies the battle.
What are we fighting over? Salad. That's right. Salad.
My oldest will eat pretty much anything now. Salads are totally good for her.
My youngest, who was previously willing to eat whatever, is now starting to rebel in the face of our produce challenge. She thinks it's hilarious to refuse to eat more than two bites of anything. I'm so done with it.
My son has (temporarily, I hope) lost his spirit of adventure with the whole Kid Vs. Produce thing, and is full-on into making horrible faces and whining no matter what I put in front of him. The last few nights, I've served salad with our meals. and he's been winding up to a fit from the moment I slap the plates on the table.
"WHY do we have to have salad. I hate lettuce! I don't want to eat it! It's gross! Bleh!"
Of course, that gets me all keyed up and irritated.
"Taste it. Try it. OH MY GAAAAAH JUST EAT IT."
It gets a little ridiculous.
See, I set myself up a bit, by telling the kid that we would try each fruit or vegetable three times, and if he didn't like it after the third time, he could skip it. Guess what? I lied. I'm realizing that I'm not willing to compromise on some fruits and vegetables. I'm going to be revising the rules to stipulate that he may not reject anything I consider to be a basic.
Carrots. Potatoes. Onions. Celery. Apples. Bananas.
That's right, I said it. That's parental privilege right there. Rule changing is alllll part of the reward of being the boss.
So anyway, the last couple of nights, we've had the salad showdown going on. Tonight, things got a bit heated, I'm afraid. My son was being particularly sassy, and I was getting really upset. We'd given him a nice little salad of butter lettuce, radicchio and avocado, with an assortment of dressings to try.
He has decided he doesn't like the crunchy parts. He also has decided that he doesn't like the green parts. He ate the radicchio right away (which... okay...?) but was refusing the butter lettuce, sassing between each bite on his plate, and basically getting me all riled up.
While I spluttered and swore under my breath, my husband was amused by the whole thing.
"I'm going to invent a laser that will break down the food and beam it straight into my stomach," said my son.
"Okay," says my husband. "Go for it. You can use whatever you can reach right now from your seat to build your laser, because you're not getting up until you've eaten all the lettuce."
A few more back-and-forth salvos like these had me steaming, because apparently I have no sense of humor. But then again...
I finally snapped and snarled across the table, "Dip it in ranch, dip it in thousand island, I don't care what sh*t you dip it in, just eat it."
At that, my husband deadpanned, "That right, if you feel the need to poop and use it for topping, feel free. But you're staying in your seat, and not getting up until you've eaten all your lettuce."
We all lost it.