Another Meltdown

Last night I made taco salads for dinner.  They were wonderful!  They weren't really anything special, but they really did hit the spot.

I used a taco seasoning packet for the meat, so that isn't anything special. We used store bought taco shells and crushed them up (halfway through making the meat and rice I realized we didn't have any tortilla chips...).  The wonderful part was the the dressing I made... Yummm!  I wanted to make Cafe Rio dressing, but halfway through I realized that I didn't have cilantro.  How do you make Cafe Rio dressing without cilantro?  You don't.  But the dressing I made was basically ranch dressing with tomatillos and lime juice in it.  It was awesome!

Anyway, on to my meltdown...

In the past I discussed with Lance a house rule I would like to have.  The rule is that everyone at the table must try at least one small bite of each item that I have prepared.

This rule comes from my extreme pet peeve of picky eaters.  I cannot stand them.  ESPECIALLY if they "don't like" things that they haven't even tried.  Seriously?  How do you know?  Because it looks funny?  Really?  Give me a break.  These people really get under my skin. (I shouldn't judge... I know...)

I am very passionate about this.

So, when Lance didn't put any rice on his plate, I said, "You have to have a bite of rice, it's the rule."  He argued and complained.  "I asked you why you made rice!" he said.  I don't remember what I said, but it doesn't matter why I made rice.  I don't care that he hates tomatoes, and tomatoes happened to be in the rice (it was Mexican rice, after all).  A rule is a rule, and just because all of a sudden I'm serving something you aren't fond of, doesn't make it any less of a rule!

He didn't eat any rice.  I cried.

I cried for hours.

The issue isn't really about the rice.  Lance is a big boy, and I'm not trying to change his food preferences.  But here is where extreme feminine thinking comes in: I linked him not eating that rice, to us having a four year old who wouldn't eat their dinner, and Lance not backing me up in making our child eat at least some of their dinner.  I imagined Lance asking me make the child something else to eat.  I refuse.  What's for dinner is for dinner.  If you don't like it NO you can't have cereal, NO I won't make something else.  You can go to bed hungry.  End of story.

I'm a mean mom because I will not raise malnourished, picky eaters.