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ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about macaroni and cheese, which happens to be my son's new favorite food. Instinctively, he can tell that it is of questionable nutritional value, and therefore desirable in large quantities.
I made a batch of the stuff this week. My husband likes the homemade version of the dish, and once in awhile I'll cook him something nice to help him forget that I don't know where the vacuum cleaner is stored and that if I do accidentally come across where he hides it, I will pretend that I still don't know. A good relationship is about compromise; he vacuums, while I cook foods that will give him a coronary someday (while making sure he is current on his life-insurance payments).
Not thinking it could lead to problems, I gave our not-quite-two-year-old son a small serving of the macaroni and cheese with his dinner. Little did I know that for certain small boys, macaroni and cheese is like crack cocaine, and they are addicted after the first bite.
On that fateful evening, I fixed a little plate with pieces of chicken, some corn, and the crackaroni. I gave this to my tot, and then fixed a small plate for myself. When I sat down next to him, he pointed at my plate and grunted. I saw that he had not touched his chicken or his corn, but he was completely out of pasta.
"What? Look, you still have chicken and corn to eat. You don't need any more macaroni," I told him.
He pointed to my plate and grunted louder, putting on his "I'm going to cry if you don't give me what I want" face.
"Eat your chicken," I said.
He began to cry. Not wanting him to starve to death, I used my fork to push the crackaroni from my plate onto his. He began to stuff it in his mouth with both hands. To my son, pasta, like everything else, is a finger food.
I went back into the kitchen and got another serving for myself. By the time I sat down, he was out again. Once more, he pointed to my plate and grunted. I admitted defeat and handed over the goods.
It turns out for me that macaroni and cheese is a zero-calorie food, so long as I am trying to eat it in front of my son. I could fix myself platefuls of the stuff all day long and I promise I would not gain an ounce.
Jeff went looking for the container of crackaroni in the refrigerator a couple of days later and couldn't find it.
"Your son ate it all," I told him.
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"You're kidding." He looked at our skinny toddler, who weighs roughly 25 pounds and looks like we never feed him.
"I promise, I didn't eat very much of it. He wouldn't let me."
Jeff pondered for a moment. "Are you going to make some more?"
I guess I'll have to. Either that, or admit that I know that the vacuum cleaner is kept in the closet of the back room, and that I actually do know how to use it.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
I made a batch of the stuff this week. My husband likes the homemade version of the dish, and once in awhile I'll cook him something nice to help him forget that I don't know where the vacuum cleaner is stored and that if I do accidentally come across where he hides it, I will pretend that I still don't know. A good relationship is about compromise; he vacuums, while I cook foods that will give him a coronary someday (while making sure he is current on his life-insurance payments).
Not thinking it could lead to problems, I gave our not-quite-two-year-old son a small serving of the macaroni and cheese with his dinner. Little did I know that for certain small boys, macaroni and cheese is like crack cocaine, and they are addicted after the first bite.
On that fateful evening, I fixed a little plate with pieces of chicken, some corn, and the crackaroni. I gave this to my tot, and then fixed a small plate for myself. When I sat down next to him, he pointed at my plate and grunted. I saw that he had not touched his chicken or his corn, but he was completely out of pasta.
"What? Look, you still have chicken and corn to eat. You don't need any more macaroni," I told him.
He pointed to my plate and grunted louder, putting on his "I'm going to cry if you don't give me what I want" face.
"Eat your chicken," I said.
He began to cry. Not wanting him to starve to death, I used my fork to push the crackaroni from my plate onto his. He began to stuff it in his mouth with both hands. To my son, pasta, like everything else, is a finger food.
I went back into the kitchen and got another serving for myself. By the time I sat down, he was out again. Once more, he pointed to my plate and grunted. I admitted defeat and handed over the goods.
It turns out for me that macaroni and cheese is a zero-calorie food, so long as I am trying to eat it in front of my son. I could fix myself platefuls of the stuff all day long and I promise I would not gain an ounce.
Jeff went looking for the container of crackaroni in the refrigerator a couple of days later and couldn't find it.
"Your son ate it all," I told him.
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"You're kidding." He looked at our skinny toddler, who weighs roughly 25 pounds and looks like we never feed him.
"I promise, I didn't eat very much of it. He wouldn't let me."
Jeff pondered for a moment. "Are you going to make some more?"
I guess I'll have to. Either that, or admit that I know that the vacuum cleaner is kept in the closet of the back room, and that I actually do know how to use it.
