be-bop, SD, Ft-I.L., etc: Right on.
It *is* hard to get the kids to eat right. Frankly, I have to pick my battles. And going to DefCon 1 over the third PBJ sammich of the night is very rarely worth it.
I have slowly grown wise to the advantages I hold. Y'know "Old age and treachery will overcome Youth and enthusiasm" or words to that effect? I do the shopping. Hehehe... "What do you mean, we're out of chicken nuggets?!" "Yes, you *can* have a snack, honey. What do you want, an apple, banana or an orange? Crunchy? We have carrots. No, the Moon Pies are gone. Uh huh, fudge cookies too. Sorry. What? Not really hungry? Ok."
Which brings me to the last point. We have a busy household, and a sit down dinner must mean it's Christmas.
But even with the regular traffic in the kitchen, it does close at night. I am t-i-r-e-d of "Can I have a peanutbutterandjellysandwichplease, I'm
hongry." at 10:45 pm. On a school night. By SonofV the Younger. He's not freakin malnourished, he's stalling bedtime. See, I can learn. eventually. So my answer has become: "You should have thought about that at dinnertime. Kitchen's closed. Loveya, g'night." Click.
*sigh*
I am consciously trying to avoid the sins of the father by not indoctrinating him into the "Clean Plate Club". I'm sure I'm making plenty of other mistakes for him to entertain his future therapists, but that tradition ends with me. And it's **hard**. F*ck, half the time
I wind up cleaning his plate. Into my own belly. I know, bad habit. But it's mine, not his, so shaddup.