Are Frozen Waffles a Moral Failing?
Or is it just another thing for parents to feel bad about?
Only five years ago, I decided what I’d eat for dinner roughly an hour or two before I ate it. Sometimes I was inspired to go to the grocery store and make a new recipe, but it often meant popping over to a place with cheap drinks and good food with a few friends.
Now? Dinner time is consumed by expectations, shame, and instilling ambiguous rules that I think will make my toddler a better person. There is no “popping,” unless, of course, it means popping frozen waffles in the toaster, only to feel the familiar shame wash over me — why aren’t you cooking her a better meal?
My husband, although the best man (and father) I’ve ever known, doesn’t seem to have this same veiling shame wash over him as he heats up a dinner of frozen taquitos and ketchup for the third time in a week. His calm attitude and his ability to not connect the taquitos to a larger story of parental success are annoying. Only because of the burning envy I have for it.
But these ambiguous rules are for her, I think. But I’m not really sure. No screens at dinner time. We need to talk as a family. Mind you, she’s only 2.5 and doesn’t quite have the finesse of conversation down — alas, I still try.
