Baking always seems justified when it’s cold and snowy outside.
“It warms up the house,” I tell myself.
“It’s healthier than that prepackaged snack or cereal or anything else I bought from the store.”
I might doubt my logic slightly, but then remind myself, “But I use whole wheat flour and substitute maple syrup or honey for the white sugar.”
Or I’ll say, “Maybe one day they’ll like eating the zucchini without the surrounding sweetened bread. This is all part of the process, right?”
My picky eaters make me crazy. I want them to enjoy a variety of foods and eat well-rounded meals, but their dietary repertoire at the moment consists of about 5 items.
Their doctor says that fighting with kids over food isn’t worth it, and that if they want to eat the same thing every day then let them, and that they will eventually come around. I’m getting impatient with that approach.
To try to solve the problem means constant self-doubt and a futile struggle with achieving nutritional perfection at every meal. I don’t know why I expect them to suddenly start eating kale, quinoa, salmon, or even carrot sticks, but something tells me that today might be the day if I could only figure out the secret to making it happen. And later, after feeling like I’ve tried everything short of having their taste buds surgically altered to enjoy vegetables and meat, I accept the failure of today and look to the possibility of tomorrow.
Or, I stop thinking about it so much and just make muffins or something. At least it will help warm up the house.