Feed the Children

As you know from reading my blog, Hubs and I do not have children.  However, we do have children in our lives.  Children we love dearly.  Two of these who have been in our lives the longest are our godsons.  Since they will likely choose my nursing home one day, for blog purposes, I will call them Bert and Ernie. Bert is the oldest at 10 1/2 and Ernie just turned 9.  We've known them from the time they entered this world and they have enriched our lives greatly.

Hubs and I have taken these kiddos lots of places and done lots of fun things.  However....  There is one activity that is always a source of contention -- EATING.  You parents who are responsible for providing daily nourishment for your offspring, I admire the shiz out of you for not going totally batshit crazy at the challenge of this endeavor.

Bert and Ernie are extremely picky eaters.  EXTREMELY.  No crusts is a given.  "Toasted" is tricky because consumption depends on the proportion of dark to light on the remaining bread.  Pizza is usually the best bet, but what if the crust is too thick or too thin?  Houston, there will be a problem.  Hotdogs are typically okay, but heaven forbid they are grilled with those delicious charred marks.

Both boys have a history of whining, "I don't like that."  The item for consideration may be something they've eaten for years, but much like a tsunami, their changes in taste evolve without warning.   Hubs and I always ask them to at least try some of whatever we are having in hopes of cultivating their palletes, but you'd think we'd asked them to try fresh dog dookie given the reactions we get.

Ernie is notorious for fake gagging and crying.  Like a match to gasoline, this sets me on fire.  I once made him eat a few bites of mac-and-cheese and he totally lost his mind.  It wasn't even homemade, for heavens sake!  Even I know kids won't go for that, but Kraft?  WTF???

Bert and I once had a come-to-Jesus meeting outside a nice, Italian restaurant when he refused to try the fried cheese he asked for.  Apparently, it was a different SHAPE than the fried cheese he'd had before. OMG.  I explained that we would never ask him to try something that wasn't good, that it would taste the same as what he'd had before, blah, blah, blah, but he totally shut down, complete with tears.

Hubs and I were determined, though, to take them out and teach them to enjoy dining at restaurants.  Our only rule was, "Make your decision carefully, because if you order it, you eat it."  We'd even get them to start thinking about their order on the way to the restaurant.  Surely that would make for a pleasant evening....

We took them to the local Sonic (which has since been closed because they were apparently cooking up meth along with the hotdogs) for a casual meal.  Bert had decided on a hotdog and Ernie chose a corndog.  It was a nice evening, sitting outside, so we naively hoped for the best.  When Ernie's corndog arrived, he started to pick off the crust. 

"What are you doing?"  I asked.

"I don't like this part."  Ernie replied.

I have to admit, Godmom lost her shit.  I leaned over, looked Ernie in the eyes and slowly said, "NO.  That is what MAKES a corndog.  You said you wanted a corndog.  YOU.  WILL.  EAT.  THAT.  CORNDOG."

Ernie apparently knew that I was close to the edge because he ate that fucking corndog.  After eating it, he looked at me pensively and announced, "I'm not eating the stick." 

I had to turn away not to laugh.  It was confirmed in that moment that it's a damn good thing I ain't nobody's mama.