Fake-cation

School vacation has come to an end, and exhausted parents are ready to get back to work. No one is cooking at this point -- it's amazing how with all the time at home, the last thing you want to do is to cook. Instead, we've been ordering pizza, Chinese food, going to the diner. When you've had as much fun as we've had (heavy irony here), you want to restrain yourself from overdoing it.

Are we the only family that has not gone to the Caribbean? It sure feels that way sometime. The train station is empty; the roads are quiet; and the local Starbucks is deserted. On Friday I took the kids to Barnes & Noble (whoo-hoo!) and was relieved to see one other parent I knew. At least we got to spend some time in New York, walking through Chinatown, going to the Met, and seeing a Broadway play (Mary Poppins -- great fun!). I count all that time as Dinner with Dad (and Mom) because, of course, we were eating (and touring) together -- we just weren't cooking (except for the bagels I toasted).

I remember, as a kid, my vacations with my own parents, which mostly consisted of getting in the car and driving as far as my father could stand before he was ready to kill us. Did we have fun? I don't remember. But it certainly brought us closer -- even though sometimes we might have appreciated a little distance. Every car trip was a little bit like Little Miss Sunshine (although without the heroin snorting grandfather). Still, loooking back at that time now, I wouldn't trade it for anything else -- except maybe a week in St. Kitts.

Happy, Happy

Let's hear it for walking in the door and being greeted by happy children and dinner. I mean, what was so wrong with the 1950's? Yes, women were oppressed, and men probably drank too much, but hey, we can't have everything!

I've been reading some of the essays from The Bitch in the House (and it's companion, The Bastard on the Couch), and what strikes me about many of them is how many women pine for the cleaner, simpler days when lines were clear. What upsets these authors is how women work, cook, clean, care for kids while their husbands ... I don't know. What do their husbands do, exactly? They seem to sit around on the couch, drink, and complain about their jobs. I know I'm guilty of the latter, but I rarely drink and I don't do much sitting on the couch. Yes, women have gotten a bum rap -- they do more than their fair share of household duties while earning a percentage of the family income -- but I don't think many (most?) of the writers in The Bitch in the House are fair to husbands who are trying to do more (we are -- we really are) while struggling to pay the bills, be good fathers, and cook our own share of the meals.

Last night, when I got home, there was pesto pasta, and steamed spinach with red peppers. The kids sat politely at the table, and for just a minute I felt like Ward Cleaver -- and it was good.

Food Fight

You would think, after all these months, that I had finally won the battle over picky eaters -- or at least reached some sort of detente, where both sides watch each other warily, nuclear arms at their sides, neither eager to pull the trigger.

Yet here I am, waiting for my daughter to finish her bagel (toasted, buttered, then re-toasted, just as she asked), punishing her by making her sit in the kitchen until I finally see at least one half disappear into her mouth.

I'm trying not to make food a battleground. But I also don't want to be played for the fool. When I ask my daughter what she wants for breakfast, and she tells me she wants a bagel, and then I make it for her exactly the way she likes, but then she says she's not hungry, it's enough to send me into orbit.

"You are not leaving this kitchen until you finish that bagel!" I say, and I mean it. I know that I have fallen into the parent trap -- scolding and punishing when I should be reasoning and thoughtful -- but thoughtfulness is the furthest thing on my mind right now. I want her to eat that damned bagel, and if she won't eat it, well then she can sit there while the entire day moves on past her. "But it's cold, daddy," she says. So I get up, place it back in the toaster, but now she complains it's too hot.

I know when I'm being played. I leave the table and write this post, hoping that when I return the bagel will be gone, but knowing it probably won't, that I've got a long morning ahead of me. Too bad there's nothing stronger than coffee to drink.

Carbo Loading

Christine never met a carbohydrate she didn't love. Two nights ago she made us a pasta with eggplant. It was not her finest moment. Something about the chewy pasta and the soggy eggplant was very unappetizing. I was excited, at first, because I thought the eggplant was portobello mushrooms, but no such luck.

Last night she had more success. She essentially invented a recipe with pearl couscous, black eyed peas, carrots, celery, and spinach. I still thought it could use a little pep (some mushrooms would have been nice -- did I mention I love mushrooms?), but it was pretty tasty.

I realize that there are households that rarely eat carbohydrates, while in our household it's practically all we survive on. I don't buy these low carbohydrate diets. I can't imagine that eating steak 24/7 is good for you, or will keep you skinny. I say you should eat what you like, but in moderation, and exercise! It's not so much what we eat that has made us unhealthy, but the fact that all we do is eat.

In college, when I ran track, we used to get 4 dollars for lunch when we went out of town for a race. Our most anticipated moment was going to Burger King or McDonalds after the race to gorge on the unhealthiest food (in those days, you could get a couple Big Macs, some fries, and a Coke for 4 dollars). You never a skinnier bunch of guys eating the world's most fattening food. Boy, were we happy!