You Get What You Get and You Don't Throw a Fit

I've been enforcing the "kids eat what grownups eat" for dinner rule lately, bolstered by the realization that the only one who actually eats the grownup food is the baby, so the being-too-young argument holds no weight. Last week I made pot roast, and Grey turned up his nose. After a few bites, though, he declared, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten! Except McDonalds. That's a little bit better."

Then, tonight I made black beans and rice with kielbasa in the slow cooker. After a day all over town with a rough nursery duty at church (let me just say, if you're kid's allergic to goldfish, please tell the nursery worker), a birthday party, and basketball practice, I wasn't about to make something special for them, even though I know they don't love black beans. I threw in some rolls as a consolation prize. Annie was the only one who ate, and I asked if she liked it. "Yes," she said automatically but cheerfully. Then, "Wait, no. I don't like it. But I'll get used to it."