In our home, where everyone under four feet has a unique set of criteria for what qualifies as food, I’ve learned a thing or two about mealtime negotiations. Here are the essentials:
- I’m saving it for later. This translates to, “I’ll hold out for something way more exciting, like gummy bears.” Curiously, when I present the same meal later, it somehow becomes far more appealing.
- I don’t like food. (as they reach for a bag of gummy worms)
- I just want milk. The master plan here seems to be that if they drink enough milk, they’ll feel full and skip the actual food.
- My breakfast is gross. Left too long, cereal becomes a soggy mess, and there’s nothing appetizing about watching a once-crunchy morsel dissolve.
- My dinner is gross. In their eyes, anything not candy is automatically deemed unpalatable. Ketchup-covered broccoli? Well, that’s a whole new level of gross.
- I don’t like carrots anymore. This one is a classic! Toddlers seem to possess the magical ability to opt-out of any vegetable at will. It helps to sneak them into smoothies instead.
- I’m not hungry. Watching a toddler subsist on a single grape for days while bouncing off the walls is a mystery I’ll never solve.
- I don’t care if I eat. A toddler’s indifference to food often extends to clothing and bathroom habits, too.
- I only like the straight noodles in mac and cheese, not the curvy ones. Because everyone knows the shape of your pasta can change its flavor!
- I just want to play outside. Out there, the only food threat is grass. If their spirit animal happens to be a rabbit, I guess I can’t argue.
- I’m busy. You’re four. Your “busy” consists of coloring outside the lines.
- No, thanks. This is a bold declaration, but unfortunately for them, it rarely works. Surely, I won’t forget I just offered dinner!
- I just want peanut butter. A protein-rich choice; I won’t argue with this one.
- The bread is too white. But the wheat is too brown? And the hot dog buns have weird bumps? The logic is baffling, but at least I can remove crusts.
- I don’t like this. “This” refers to anything served, except for gummy worms, of course.
- I’m only eating yogurt from now on. Yogurt is wonderful, but mixing it with M&M’s doesn’t quite count as a meal.
- Peas are super bad for you. The only danger with peas is the mess they can create while rolling around the kitchen.
- My toast is too crunchy. If you can only toast at one setting, breakfast can become a negotiation of textures.
- This isn’t chicken; it’s not dinosaur-shaped. A quick lesson in evolution might be necessary, but logic doesn’t always resonate with little ones.
- My fruit is touching my sandwich. I remember when threats worked with my parents, but we’ve moved beyond that approach. Instead, we just separate the offending items.
- You don’t have green beans on your plate. My response? “That’s because I’m not growing any taller, just wider.”
- My cereal is cold. This excuse surfaces occasionally, usually when their breakfast has sat long enough to become a science experiment.
While I love food (and naps), I can’t quite grasp why my kids make such a fuss over meals. I admire their creativity, though. Unlike my own childhood, where I would stubbornly stare at my plate until bedtime, they’ve taken the art of excuse-making to a whole new level.
Maybe if they just embraced the food served, meal times would be a lot smoother. After all, the menu is pretty simple around here, and who knows? Maybe a grilled cheese could lead to a sweet treat later. For a deeper dive into the world of home insemination, check out this resource, or learn more about artificial insemination kits for an enriching experience. Also, don’t miss out on this excellent resource for pregnancy.