My children don’t eat toast, and please don’t go off and tell me that I have to offer it to them 15 times before they will stop turning their noses away. This theory of what ever it’s called when you offer a kid spinach fifteen times. I know there’s a name for that like aversion therapy, no, fuck, that’s what they do in the psychology clinic where I signed up for the paid trials when I needed some cash in college. Whatever. My babies do not eat toast. They do not eat peanut butter. And the ‘babies’ are teens now, and I have failed nearly completely in teaching them to eat one of the all-time cheap foods for the masses.  The in-between jobs moms, and the underemployed moms offer the toast and jam for breakfast. Mom earns the Silver Star, at least they ate something. They do not eat peanut butter. They do not eat fried peanut butter sandwiches, one of the staples of my childhood. No also to fried bologna packman smileys, spam, powdered milk and/or potato flakes, canned green beans and anything else from the commodity food box.

During the time when I was on unemployment, not speaking to my family, or floundering around in an upstairs flat, steps in the back, no driveway, carrying toddlers, spending all my spare money on babysitters and rebuying the same five hundred dollar car ….I did not get my kids to enthusiastically eat the easy to prepare food standards for toddlers. It’s not so easy now.

At least they eat tortillas, but that involves standing over the stove and burning my fingers for at least for ten minutes, it involves finding enough Tupperware to pack with rice and beans only to find it moldering in a backpack a week later, and to fill out the reduced/free lunch form for the girl who won’t eat anything but the school lunch.

Oh, I forgot to mention. These girls will eat bread. An entire baguette from the day old bread section, three pieces of fry bread at the powwow– anything that ends in an –o or and –a involving a tortilla—burrito, quesadilla, taco, or a fried piece of bread with the middle cut out and an egg fried in the middle—a sneaky egg, and then, when I give up on the whole cooking thing—anything with bread as the main ingredient in the refrigerator case in the save-a-lot, or the always there five dollar cheese pizza from the Little Caesars’s. But til this day, my girls, one of whom now drives, cannot make a piece of toast or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

* Editor’s note. My seventeen year old has spoken to me about grammar, run on sentences, and the identity of her breakfast–toast with avocado.


This entry was posted in Blog. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *