I got rid of cable at the beginning of the year, and for the most part it has been pretty easy. The only thing I can say I have really missed is Food Network.
The Hubbs signed up for a free trial of Sling, which has a bunch of channels available to you for around 22 dollars. One of them is Food Network. I have been watching a lot of it lately.
I forgot how inspiring I find food network.
Watching Bobby Flay cook anything makes me immediately want to go to the grocery store and stock up on fun things to cook. I never miss Secrets of a Restaurant Chef with Anne Burrel, and Rachel Ray is the first person who made me feel like I could cook anything.
Since Sling has been a part of my television line up I have definitely gone back to cooking more adventurous things.
Letting a ragu simmer all day for instance, or making a salad of grilled vegetables soaked in a lemon vinaigrette.
I am reminded of how much I really do enjoy cooking
But ,feeding children dinner sucks.
I can understand why feeding them a menu of boxed macaroni and cheese and frozen chicken nuggets is so appealing.
I can make a master chef worthy dish and they look at me like I just served them the family pet with a side of eyeballs.
It is the most discouraging thing I do everyday.
I hate it.
I sit in my spot at the dinner table feeling resentment build up in my throat.
Most days I can feel my eye twitching down rage.
Part of me wants to morph into my inner Disney Villain. Thunder in the background, scepter in hand, dark animal minion on my shoulder, while I threaten them with some god awful curse if they don’t learn to have a broad pallet.
The Hubbs looks over at me with a warm encouraging smile like it is supposed to make me not want to throw salmon filets that I have just mastered crispy skin on at them.
He tells me at night while I am laying next to him bitching about these ungrateful little monsters who groan, and try to kill time at dinner by pushing around anything remotely healthy for them until I tell them they better eat that, or it will end up on their plates at breakfast.
He tries to appeal to my rational side by reminding me that one day when they are older they won’t remember all the times they were afraid to eat an adventurous dinner, and they will walk around eating all sorts of things because I kept pushing it at them.
But thats all so far away.
Today I will have to sit at the table with them as they turn up their noses, and ugh at some creation that took time and love to produce.
I will continue to control my inner Maleficent at the dinner table, only because my main goal in raising children is to not psychologically damage them, but every time I sit at dinner the music in my head is that slow eerie thud of her arrival at Auroras gift ceremony.