I Won't Be Ignored, Dad
I cooked supper last night. It was nothing difficult, just spaghetti, a meal involving boiling pasta, simmering sauce, and broiling bread to accompany the steaming vegetables and microwaving chicken for Abbie. I’d have a harder time finding bootleg photos of Baby Spears than I did cooking supper. Cleaning up afterwards, that was difficult.
It was nothing unusual, either. I typically cook around our house, unless we’re eating out, an event that occurs with inversely proportional frequency to the number of children in the house. When the twins come, I’m assuming that “eating out” will involve “take out,” “delivery,” or “drive thru and eat it fast before anyone in the backseat realizes what we’re doing.” That will continue until the twins are at least old enough to threaten to behave.
What was a little unusual was I was working solo with no idea when Ellie would be home. Ellie is a picky eater, and when I know she won’t be home for supper, I usually pull something off the shelf or out of the freezer that’s been rejecting for a long time. We have a pizza sitting in the freezer that’s older than Abbie (probably twice as old), and I swear one of these days I’m going to eat it. I usually start working on this supper soon after Abbie wakes from her nap and is in a mood to entertain herself so I only have to pop something in the oven or microwave when the time comes.
When I know Ellie will be home for supper, like yesterday, I try to consult with her before preparing something. Like I said, she’s a picky eater, and pregnancy only makes her pickier. Usually, asking one of us what we want for supper only leads to maddeningly circular conversations,* but sometimes she throws out a good idea like Mexican takeout or frozen custard. At the very least, she’ll confirm my idea for supper so I know she’ll at least eat a couple bites of what I made before supplementing her meal with a bag of marshmallows.
We hit the point of no return on supper, the time when I had to start cooking something if we were going to be able to eat at Abbie’s strict mealtime (5:45pm). With nothing ready, I cast Abbie to the side for 15 minutes while I filled pans and opened jars. Right after her nap, she generally takes being ignored well, chasing pets and bending books into creative positions. Right before supper, she never takes being ignored well as she’s hungry and cranky, especially when daddy is banging around the kitchen and fiddling with something edible, where edible is defined as “anything that fits completely in the mouth.”
I don’t usually feel bad about ignoring her, especially after we just completed a vigorous session in the park like we just did. In fact, I sometimes intentionally ignore her when I have something important to do like cook supper or watch football, because she’s sure going to have to get used to being ignored when the twins come.
She still has some getting used to being ignored to do because she spent the entire time whining at my feet. I talked to her while working, but that was about as effective as an Astros reliever. She wanted my undivided attention for a reading session, but didn’t know how to express it. First she tried whining with no effect. Next she tried doing that one thing I was doing, what’s it called? … Talking. She hasn’t put the effort into learning to talk yet though, so she just kept saying the same syllables she always says, “mo,” “bo,” and when she wants to mix things up “mbo.” When that failed she tried throwing all sorts of new syllables at me, and when those failed she tried throwing books. At least she didn’t try biting, so I’m viewing this as progress.
I set everything cooking without experiencing too many shed tears. I washed her hands and set her into her high chair to start her on a chicken appetizer. About the time we progressed to spaghetti, Ellie came home. Fortunately the spaghetti met with her approval, and she sat down to half a plate of spaghetti and a couple pieces of bread. Then she retired to the bedroom with a bag of marshmallows.
*“So, do you want anything for dinner?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
“I don’t know. I asked you first.”
“Damn.”
It was nothing unusual, either. I typically cook around our house, unless we’re eating out, an event that occurs with inversely proportional frequency to the number of children in the house. When the twins come, I’m assuming that “eating out” will involve “take out,” “delivery,” or “drive thru and eat it fast before anyone in the backseat realizes what we’re doing.” That will continue until the twins are at least old enough to threaten to behave.
What was a little unusual was I was working solo with no idea when Ellie would be home. Ellie is a picky eater, and when I know she won’t be home for supper, I usually pull something off the shelf or out of the freezer that’s been rejecting for a long time. We have a pizza sitting in the freezer that’s older than Abbie (probably twice as old), and I swear one of these days I’m going to eat it. I usually start working on this supper soon after Abbie wakes from her nap and is in a mood to entertain herself so I only have to pop something in the oven or microwave when the time comes.
When I know Ellie will be home for supper, like yesterday, I try to consult with her before preparing something. Like I said, she’s a picky eater, and pregnancy only makes her pickier. Usually, asking one of us what we want for supper only leads to maddeningly circular conversations,* but sometimes she throws out a good idea like Mexican takeout or frozen custard. At the very least, she’ll confirm my idea for supper so I know she’ll at least eat a couple bites of what I made before supplementing her meal with a bag of marshmallows.
We hit the point of no return on supper, the time when I had to start cooking something if we were going to be able to eat at Abbie’s strict mealtime (5:45pm). With nothing ready, I cast Abbie to the side for 15 minutes while I filled pans and opened jars. Right after her nap, she generally takes being ignored well, chasing pets and bending books into creative positions. Right before supper, she never takes being ignored well as she’s hungry and cranky, especially when daddy is banging around the kitchen and fiddling with something edible, where edible is defined as “anything that fits completely in the mouth.”
I don’t usually feel bad about ignoring her, especially after we just completed a vigorous session in the park like we just did. In fact, I sometimes intentionally ignore her when I have something important to do like cook supper or watch football, because she’s sure going to have to get used to being ignored when the twins come.
She still has some getting used to being ignored to do because she spent the entire time whining at my feet. I talked to her while working, but that was about as effective as an Astros reliever. She wanted my undivided attention for a reading session, but didn’t know how to express it. First she tried whining with no effect. Next she tried doing that one thing I was doing, what’s it called? … Talking. She hasn’t put the effort into learning to talk yet though, so she just kept saying the same syllables she always says, “mo,” “bo,” and when she wants to mix things up “mbo.” When that failed she tried throwing all sorts of new syllables at me, and when those failed she tried throwing books. At least she didn’t try biting, so I’m viewing this as progress.
I set everything cooking without experiencing too many shed tears. I washed her hands and set her into her high chair to start her on a chicken appetizer. About the time we progressed to spaghetti, Ellie came home. Fortunately the spaghetti met with her approval, and she sat down to half a plate of spaghetti and a couple pieces of bread. Then she retired to the bedroom with a bag of marshmallows.
*“So, do you want anything for dinner?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
“I don’t know. I asked you first.”
“Damn.”
posted by Matt at
10:01 PM
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