Breakfast Blues

WARNING: Snark Alert.

Okay, not really.

Okay, maybe just a little.

I'm sick. (Read: irritated and cranky over the stupidest little things.)

And, when I'm sick, annoyances that I'm able to take in stride on other days suddenly become large frustrations that I have a hard time dealing with... which is, in and of itself, annoying. Of course.

Seriously, though, all snarkiness aside, I think it would behoove K to begin practicing meals that involve something other than beans, leftover spanish rice, and tortillas. Or cereal. Or toast. That's about the extent of her breakfasts and/or lunches (oh, I forgot the pasta. That's a lunch thing.). But thinking forward to someday when she's married, her family is going to suffer at least a little. When she's the mom, there won't be leftovers unless she makes them in the first place... which launches a vicious catch-22 cycle that can only be stopped by pasta or cereal.

I guess it just comes back around to that "I feel like you don't care and that bothers me" thing again. Like our health and welfare just isn't important enough to her for her to bother putting in more than the minimum effort to slap something on the table. She could do better/more. I know it. She has before. But it takes too much effort to do it on a routine basis.

Take, for instance, this morning. Our routine is that we eat around 7:30. I woke up around 6:40 (ten hours of sleep- YES!!), and nothing was happening in the kitchen yet. I was tempted to go in and make something (so that I knew we'd have something good), but I thought, No, it's her deal. Let her do it. (Explanation: In my experience, it takes about an hour to make a decent, well-rounded meal. You pretty much need to start at 6:30, unless it's something like quinoa or cream of rice.)

So, at the breakfast table we have a skillet of scrambled eggs (which I can't eat), a small saucepan halfway filled with something mysterious and beany, and an even smaller saucepan one third of the way filled with leftover spanish rice. That is not going to cut it. But D had a banana by his plate, and C was fasting.

Halfway through the meal, someone asked what the mysterious beany stuff was... and SHE DIDN'T KNOW!! It was just in the fridge, so she heated it up and served it. What the heck?! It took us a couple minutes to figure out if this was a recent leftover, or something that had been sitting there for a week or more. (Thankfully, it was recent.)

Is it too much to ask that you actually know what it is you're feeding us? Especially in a house with so many food allergies-- I could have lost 3-5 days to sheer agony simply because you weren't sure what it was that you served for breakfast.

And now, in her defense...

It is hard for her to get up in the morning. I understand this. We are extremely similar in this respect.

Also, so did bulk up the "goulash" (as she called it-- it was actually leftover tamale pie) with leftover quinoa, so she did try to make to go farther.

At least it was protein. Her meals before that were pure carbs. I was starving.

And, most importantly... it's easy to clean up after her meals. I hate doing dishes, and she usually has very few dishes dirty. So I guess it's a trade-off...

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