Breakfast for dinner…for breakfast

I find that one of the great joys of motherhood is wearing the hat of short order cook. Not only do I get the pleasure of making at least three meals a day, but it’s often three different meals at each seating, not including the adult courses that I lovingly prepare for Husband and myself. So I guess that’s about 10+ plates I’m whipping up on the average day. Pepper in the snacks and ill-timed requests for beverages, and it’s no wonder I never leave the kitchen to do other fun jobs, such as laundry, cleaning bathrooms, etc.

What makes this facet of motherhood particularly delightful is when each version of each meal prepared for each child is rejected with a “what’s that?” and “looks gross.” As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve been somewhat under the weather. So while under normal circumstances I smile like Donna Reed and ask my little darlings to suggest something more to their liking, last night I was in no mood to mess with them. More to the point, my offspring were not using their best judgment in messing with me.

“Moooooooom! What is this? It looks weird.”

“It’s scrambled eggs with cheese, heavy on the cheese. If you recall, you cracked the eggs, put in the cheese and whisked them together not a minute ago.”

“Really? I thought we were making a cake.”

“You can call it whatever you want, but it’s what’s for dinner.”

“Smells yuck.”

“That’s because it’s marginally healthy. Now dig in.”

The Mighty Midget, bless her heart, tucked in and devoured dinner. Her brothers, however, were not sold; my attempt to get away from another night of dinosaur chicken and macaroni & cheese was failing. Yet still, I never raised my voice. (The fact that I’ve lost my voice to tonsillitis is beside the point.) Very quietly, but quite gravely, I looked each of my angels in the eye and told them they had 5 minutes to finish their dinner or else they were going straight to bed—no bath, no stories, no cuddles.

When 5 minutes passed, I tried again and told them that whatever they didn’t finish they were getting for breakfast the next day. Plus the whole straight to bed threat. Backfire! To this they jumped with glee, ran from the table, brushed their teeth and jumped into bed.

Fast-forward to this morning when I pulled out the remains of their egg-n-cheese omelets.

“What?! Are you kidding? That’s not breakfast?!”

“Yes, it is. In fact, it’s what many people have for breakfast everyday. And last night you chose to have for today’s breakfast instead. Remember…?”

“Moooooooooooom. There’s no way.”

“Way.”

Currently there is much crying and desperation in the House of M.

To be honest, I’m not too sure how long the Mexican standoff will continue. Even with focused resolution my Depression-era grandmother would be proud of, I’d rather just throw a bowl of Cheerios at them then listen to these howls of woe. Because who am I kidding—even the Meanest Mom can’t outplay, outwit or outlast her own kids.