While the rest of the world may be impressed with the healthy changes I’ve made, my own children remain blase, unimpressed, and/or snarky.
(One would think they’d be happy about the fact that they may not have to provide expensive medical care for me way down the road someday – but apparently they weren’t going to do that anyway.)
Here’s a sampling of what I’ve heard from them lately…
On what I’m currently making for dinner:
- “Ugh – who in the hell would eat that?”
- “Don’t you know by now, Mom, that you don’t really know how to cook meat. It’s always dry, tough & way too chewy.” (might have something to do with the fact you want your steak medium-well, no?)
- “Are you sure that isn’t already spoiled?” (said about a perfectly-fine pepper from the farmer’s market that wasn’t perfectly polished/waxed first)
- “Um…no thanks, I’ll make my own (insert packaged, overly-processed pile of crap) instead.”
- “When are you going to make something we’d like to eat, too?”
…and the ever popular
On what I look like these days:
- “It looks fine, Mom.” (said about the shirt that’s hanging off one shoulder, Flashdance-style)
- “I figured that was my package of new underwear ’cause you hate pink.”
- “You look the same to me. Only you have [more grey hair/are wearing too much black/your clothes don’t match/a hideous shirt on/shouldn’t be wearing those shoes]”
- “I really don’t want to hear about the size of your new pants, Mom. Ever.”
And in general (when I say this is a lifestyle, not a temporary ‘diet’ I’m on):
- “Aren’t you ever going to have [doughnuts/brownies/ice cream/sushi rolls/pasta/bourbon/etc.) again? That’s just STUPID.” (accompanied by optional eye roll or dismissive shrug)
That said? I haven’t seen either kid consume a bowl of cereal in weeks. My daughter’s now gravitating to my breakfast food of choice (Aidell’s chicken-apple sausages). My son’s cut way back on the pre-packaged dried chow mein. My roasted veggies mysteriously disappear from the pan when I turn my back. And I’m seeing things like ‘lettuce’ ‘tomatoes’ and ‘fruit’ show up on the grocery list whiteboard on the refrigerator.
And I was never doing this to impress either (staunchly resistant) teenager anyway, was I?
Nope, never ever was.
So I’m making what I want to eat for dinner most days. Buying the pink underwear for me, not my daughter. And keeping the teflon teenage-impervious suit on 24/7.