Sorry, Piper, they don’t have GIFs in prison.
Making dinner is like Groundhog Day for me. Unlike Bill Murray, however, I’ve never figured out how to use the knowledge of its reoccurrence to my advantage.
Other adults chart the week ahead, shop accordingly, and stick to it. I, on the other hand, operate like an infant yet to develop object permanence. “Well, I guess dinnertime is over now! Phew. Good thing I lived through that stupid charade and it will never come around again.”
I want to enjoy feeding my children. I want to be good at it. But, I don’t know. Maybe I feel like I’m just destined to fail any way you slice it. Is it organic? How about local? Just how long do I have to sit there while they negotiate the amount of green beans they have to consume to earn dessert? Is earning dessert by choking down prohibitively expensive farmer’s market produce going to ensure one of them eventually dabbles in some sort of eating disorder? OMG. PANCAKE BATTER IV’S FOR EVERYONE. I’M DONE.
To illustrate my every day experience and honor the return of the ladies of Litchfield Penitentiary (THE NEW SEASON OF ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK IS AVAILABLE RIGHT NOW) I shall tell the story in OINTB gifs.
How I want to feel about cooking for my kids.
How I really feel about cooking for my kids.
How I think they should react to my cooking.
How they actually react to my cooking.
How I feel about their reaction.
How that feeling shows on the outside.
My kids when I finally just order a god damn pizza.
What ordering pizza feels like.
One day, feeding themselves will be their own problem.