Cooking for my kids is so disheartening it might even give Rachel Ray pause. Seriously. Almost every dinner I make is greeted with "Yuck!" or "Eww!" or "I don't want to eat that!" It doesn't matter what it is or what it actually tastes like. Not to toot my own horn, but most of the time it is pretty good or, at least, edible.
This morning I made French toast for breakfast. I don't usually cook for breakfast so it should be considered a special treat. You'd think. Not so much. The oldest said she didn't want any. The youngest embraced them wholeheartedly. But she was hungry and fixated on the strawberries I promised her would go with them. I told Big Sis she couldn't have her "usual." (She puts frozen Chocolate Chip Eggo waffles into the toaster every morning before school, making her own breakfast.) Reluctantly, she sat down and inhaled her breakfast. But wouldn't admit to liking it. For some reason, she never remembers that this is a breakfast dish she actually likes. But L'il Sis sat next to her, eating and making appreciative noises. Then she turns to her big sister and says, "See. It's not so bad."
High praise, indeed.