Parenting is hard a hell. And it is nothing like I thought it would be. I grew up with a mother who watched what we ate because she knew it had a HUGE impact on how we felt and acted. And that was back in the mid-70s until, at least, the early 90s. Back when kids weren’t “diagnosed” with anything except being an asshole.
When I had kids I fully believed I could be like my mother. A parent who makes meals and has plenty of food in the pantry. A parent who is cautious about what their kids are consuming. A parent who has breakfast, lunch, and dinner already made.
But HELL no. I’m no where near being anything like my mother. I failed that years ago.
People will say that it’s my work schedule and just how times have changed. But I know deep down it is because I gave up. I quit doing what I know is best for my kids because it is just easier. I’m gone 24 hours at a time and my ideas about food and how they influence behavior are stupid. And that’s just that. It was a constant battle and I gave up.
Like I usually do, I made some dinner tonight. They have snacked all day because that is how we do it. But dinner is usually a meat and some vegetables. I fix it, they eat it. Just not together at a table. Tonight I got it started and what did they do? They at dinner with their little neighborhood buddy while they were next door.
As much as I wanted certain things, they just haven’t been established and probably never will be. It’s impossible when there are two opposing forces in a home along with everything else that life throws your way.
I realize my kids will survive. I understand that they won’t be totally warped by the lack of a solid routine and dinner at the table. But damn it would be nice.