Waffle-Gate
Posted on January 25, 2008
Filed Under kids, parenting, suburban joys, snark, juvenile deliquents, challenges |
I’m pretty sure that the menu from the Madmarriage-kitchen needs revision. There’s a fridge full of leftovers that no one is touching. The Baked Polenta with Italian Sausage has gone the way of the garbage disposal after four days under plastic wrap, the Chicken, Asparagus and Lemongrass Stir Fry is still snug in its Tupperware right beside the humongous Ketchup bottle, (Ketchup being the one thing that the citizens of the Madmarriage household seem to consume in quantity), the Queso Fundido I made for Sunday’s play-off game tasted overly of Chardonnay and was just all wrong on a Tortilla chip.
In the past thirty days I have made Spinach and Pea Timbales, Taco Soup, Homemade pizza (twice), Chocolate Nut Puffs, Beef Tenderloin with Baked Mozzarella Orzo, Mandarin Orange and Romaine Salad, Curried Chicken Soup, Jamaican Jerk Pork Tenderloin and Cuban Black Beans, Rice Krispy Treats, Carne Asada Tacos, Shrimp with Feta Tomato Penne, the list goes on and on. And always, always their is complaining, save for the Chocolate Nut Puffs and Rice Krispy Treats, the desserts enjoy most favored creation status.
But Breakfast. Oh breakfast, how I love that you come all prepared in a cute box, just add a splash of cold milk and a crowd pleasing banana. I thought breakfast was our safe space, our green zone, while everyone polishes off their bowl of Cheerios in the morning with nary a complaint, the rest of the day is spent gazing suspiciously at whatever meal is set before them. Lunch and dinner require coercion and negotiation and ratified treaties of the broccoli eating variety. Breakfast is free from all that hard work and conflict resolution. And now I know why.
Yesterday I received a phone call from G’s teacher. She was calling to ask if G was supposed to be buying breakfast at school because each morning she’s been getting off the bus and marching into the cafeteria with her Lunch-Deposit pin number and spending her parents’ hard earned cash on a second breakfast, usually Belgian waffles and a hot cocoa. Finally, someone over there on the first grade teaching team thought to ask G if she was, in fact, sent off to school with an empty stomach. She quietly explained that her school breakfast was her second meal of the day, right after her at home breakfast which was nowhere near as good and suspiciously devoid of sugary syrups and sticky buns and hot chocolate.
She’s a clever and wily one, that G, a double agent, a natural with the covert-ops. She has convinced at least two friends to join her in eating a second breakfast at school. She not only has a firm grasp on executing a secret mission, she also has recruitment skills. We are in SO MUCH TROUBLE. Now, in second grade, it’s breakfast pastries. Can you imagine the variety and complexity of the stunts she’ll be pulling come seventh grade?
For now I have removed all funds from her school meal account. She’ll be brown bagging it for awhile. She has agreed to pay us back for all the unauthorized meals and there will now be a Wii embargo, two weeks without holding a Wii Nunchuck, that should learn her.
My end of the deal is to revisit Madmarriage menu options and include an occasional breakfast that does not come from a box that says General Mills or Kellogg in the upper right hand corner. This is a small act of contrition, my saying that I have played a part in sending G into the arms of the enemy, for what six year old can resist the charms of those offering French Toast Stix when all they get at home is Wheat Chex?
And about dinner, you ask? After all it is Friday. Fuddruckers anyone?
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