Earlier today I thought to myself, I now have a blog and I like to cook, so I should write about a post about cooking. So I went about doing a lovely little post about it being fall and time to make a low-carb, yet so delicious keto soup.
Like I’ve seen in all the other blogs, I captured the experience of making soup by taking all sorts of process pictures. I prepped, chopped, roasted, and cooked. While it simmered away in a lovingly made homemade broth, I wrote up and prepped my post, ready to publish after the kids went to bed. All it needed was the testimonials of my kids, their exclamations and shouts of wonder that would of course come after I presented them with their bowl of soup, garnished with a splash of EVOO. I kid you not, this is how it was going to go in my mind. I have put the pictures in to prove it.
While my 1 year+ girls will eat anything, my son is another story. As soon as I put the bowl in front of my 6 year old son, the new blog euphoria bubble burst. I had just pulled a rookie mom move. I made broccoli and cheddar soup. It has vegetables. And we are just coming out of a weekend of more chocolate and less sleep, with the special excitement of the first lost tooth and the wait-up-all-night-for-the-tooth-fairy amount of sleep, which reduces a child’s tolerance for anything outside of exactly what they want.
Now I should also note that my hubby and I weren’t even going to eat the soup! This was supposed to be a kid-only meal as we had sexy rib steaks for later. Further evidence of my broccoli soup stupidity. Who makes broccoli soup for the kids’ meal?
And so came the tantrum from dear son, the declarations of hate, weirdness and general dislike for the bowl of liquid broccoli before him. We no longer give into these particular tantrums. And we have come a long way, as kids from foster care have a particular set of issues around food (even more fun than the ones most kids have around vegetables), but this was my dumb move.
I just wasn’t going to give up my parenting cred, he needed to think this dinner was thoughtfully planned out, even though I was ready to go easy on how much he would have to eat. While we don’t make him eat every last morsel of disliked food like some parents do (I’m looking at you, Dad), if you can’t be pleasant about your distaste (I.e. If you throw a ridiculous tantrum as a way to manipulate your parents), you have to sit at the table until bedtime. It was a long time until bedtime.
Really, I could have just made chicken and pasta. But instead we had to deal with the broccoli tantrum.
So the bloggy lesson is, one should worry less about trying to impress an audience of 4 readers (hi guys) and pull content based on the things that come organically.
This adventure, however, has helped me justify my stiff drink after dinner!
Bon apetite my friends.