Column: A mom's gotta eat, too

By: Kate Meier | Statesville Record & Landmark
Published: February 21, 2012

I don’t make time for things like meal-planning. (One look at me and you’ll see I also don’t make time for manicures, haircuts and eyebrow waxing.)

My priorities have always been:

1. Food
2. Family
3. Fun
4. Everything else

Yes, food is above family. That doesn’t mean that I would pick a sandwich over my sister if one of them had to die. But I might hesitate.

What can I say? I’m an eater. And I think it’s hereditary.

When my son was born, he’d look up at me with those baby blue eyes (got those from his dad) and his sweet smile (also from dad) and then let out a ground-shaking wail, signaling he better get his food now, because you do not come between him and his food (got that from his mom).

It makes our dinnertime pretty interesting:

At 5:30, Monster is in his high chair with whatever I can quickly grab: typically, pieces of bread.

While he crams his mouth by the fistful, I am scrambling to find something healthful, as those pieces of bread are disappearing quicker than my tolerance for parents who have it “together” and have “family meals” and “dinner conversation.”

I hastily chop up vegetables that will end up on the ground (much to the dismay of the dog, who is hoping for the fish sticks I just nuked because conventional ovens don’t run on Monster Time).

The baby now has his food but just saw me pop leftover crab cakes in my mouth so now he wants that, but then he puts it in his mouth, spits out and throws on the ground (much to the delight of the dog).

And you must give Monster something to hold while he eats. (Did I mention he also inherited his mother’s knack for multitasking?) My son eats most dinners holding a spatula.

As the spatula-wielding waddler gets his fill, I scour the kitchen to find something for my own dinner. Before I even get a bite, Monster has thrown both his arms in the air to signal he is finished and wants to play with the dog, who has also already had more to eat than me. I then chase both of them around as Monster gets his final wind before the sweet release of his bedtime.

To all of you who want to offer me advice on “freezer meals” and “advanced meal planning,” I say this:

Ssssshhh.

In my free time, I don’t cook. I don’t meal-plan.

I eat.

My free time is when I can actually chew food instead of swallowing it whole. I’m sure you wouldn’t call a handful of trail mix dinner, but if I can sit in peace and read a book while I eat it, that’s the best dinner I will have that whole week.

Maybe I’ll get it “together” one day and regularly plan meals. Until then, I’m not swayed enough by our dinnertime chaos to change my priorities.

Column: A mom's gotta eat, too

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