This Momom is on strike! Although I wish I could relinquish all household responsibilities, I realize that this would be irresponsible and not feasible. Therefore, I am going to pick and choose my battles and for right now, my issue is dinner.
Despite the fact that my working hours are equal to those who work outside the home, I remain responsible for all meal preparation. Between appointment visits, report writing and conference calls, I must contend with the daily stress of what to make for dinner. I love to cook, but the fact that I have to do it everyday is becoming draining!
A few days ago I was assigned a report which took top priority. The deadline was looming and the project could equate to a huge contract for the company. All other duties were put on hold and I concentrated my efforts and energy on creating the best document possible. Despite the stress, I still found time to make dinner. With limited time and a diminishing pantry, I resorted to a staple dish from my childhood. I made Sloppy Joe pie. It wasn't gourmet, but it was warm and quasi-nutritious so I felt comfortable that my dinner obligations were met.
Admittedly frustrated by the report, I called the boys to the table for dinner. Both of them took one look at the Sloppy Joe pie (Manwich topped with cheese served over a biscuits crust) and they summarily scoffed and turned up their noses. Robby absolutely refused to try the dish, eating only corn for dinner. Meanwhile Scott picked at and pushed the food around on his plate, stalling like a toddler who was afraid to try something new.
Needless to say, both finicky eaters left the table hungry. My aggravation level hit a feverish pitch when Robby complained about being hungry 10 minutes after I finished cleaning up the culinary flop. My inclination was to allow him to be hungry or to pour him a bowl of cold cereal. Scott's relentless lobbying resulted in my acquiescing and cooking a frozen pizza for the picky pair. In my personal act of defiance, I left the pizza on the table. I informed them that I might have been relegated to short order cook, but I was by no means a waitress.
Of course the issue escalated with Scott blaming my reaction on pregnancy hormones. A note to men who may be reading this blog: never blame a conflict on pregnancy hormones. It does nothing to smooth the situation!