I love my children dearly. They make me laugh and smile every day, and are also the reason why I’m always so tired.
But no matter how much of a Supermum I may feel like some days, there is always one guaranteed thing that happens that brings me crashing back down to the world of mortals, and makes me feel like a failure. Dinner time.
Pretty much every single night, I sound like a broken record.
“Please, just eat your dinner”.
“You’ve eaten it before and loved it”.
“No, there are no onions in it”.
“We’ve been sitting here for an hour now, of course the vegetables are cold”.
“You like chicken. You like pasta. You like carrots. Please just eat the meal!”
“You helped make this and said how awesome it smelled when it was being cooked. Why won’t you eat it?!”
Anyone else relate to this? No? Just me?
Our seven year old and dinner time seem to be incompatible. We have had him suggest meals for the week so he feels involved, he helps prepare some of the meals, and we give the meals cool names. I plate up the food to look like dinosaurs or something else he thinks is fabulous. We eat dinner early or late. He goes without afternoon tea. He grazes all afternoon. I cook him a separate meal. He eats what we eat.
Reward charts that should get him into a new habit by the time we finish the challenge, along with bribery, are implemented.
Yes, they are a success, but as soon as the challenge period finishes, we go back to me wearing my cranky pants and him going back to whinging every evening.
This has been an ongoing battle since he was about three. He is now seven. I’m pretty much over it.
He told me once how much he loved a chicken risotto I had made. I then made a huge batch to portion out for separate meals for him to give myself a break and not go through this every night. He then decided he didn’t like it.
Oh. My. God.
If I could have one wish, it would be to enjoy dinner times. I dream big, I know. Without having to say on constant repeat, “please, eat your dinner”.
I’ll be honest with you, some days I’m so exhausted, that after the whinging starts, I’m out. I’m over it.
If you’re looking for me, I’ll be the tired, frazzled looking mum on the couch with a glass of wine.
I know that one day he will be eating us out of house and home. I remember how much my brother used to eat when he was a teenager. We’ll go through kilos of food in a single sitting.
But for now, I just have one wish. Please, just eat your dinner.
Do your kids eat their dinner? Or do you sound like a broken record too? Please share your experiences in the comments below.