Apparently, I have been too far removed from the world of feeding little kids, because I’m on a two-week stint, caring for my two grandsons, ages 5 and 2, while my daughter and son-in-law search to replace the nanny that decided not to show up for work one day. And I am mystified by my progeny’s food preferences.
First of all, there is no reasoning with them. They don’t have that facility. And what they ask for and what they eat can be two entirely different things.
I think I may have the only two grandchildren in the world who do not like macaroni and cheese. They’re not crazy about peanut butter and jelly (at least not yet) and I’m not quite sure how they were able to tell the difference between a hamburger (which they love) and my meatloaf (which they hated).
On the other hand, they will eat tomatoes, cucumbers, green and black olives, any flavor yogurt, as well as pasta drenched in marinara with freshly grated Parmesan (not the kind in the green can, mind you) all day long. They also like strong cheeses, like Stilton and Gorgonzola, and that just freaks me out.
What is going on with those little palates?
I’ve always got the old standby in the freezer – chicken nuggets – which can be nuked in a few seconds to soothe a sobbing toddler who just doesn’t want the deliciously roasted chicken I just made and cut up in toddler-sized pieces. He doesn’t get (and clearly he doesn’t care) that my chicken has real chicken parts and that no one has been able to positively identify exactly where the nugget is on a hen.
They carbo-load in the mornings before going off to their day-care/school with cereal and low fat milk or a toaster-oven waffle or pancake. As an experiment, I made pancakes from scratch and they wouldn’t touch them.
Scrambled eggs seem to work OK, but eggs in any other form are not acceptable. Hot dogs are a given, but with ketchup not mustard. Poppy seeds on buns are okay but not sesame. Plain bagels – no. Onion bagels – yes. Onions on anything else? No way. And get this: they don’t care for potatoes. They don’t like baked, boiled, roasted or French-fried potatoes.
As it happens, as I write this, we’re off to the 2-year-old’s birthday party where he and his little friends will load up on ice cream, birthday cake, pizza and who-knows-what-else. Then the adults and some close friends will come back to my daughter and son-in-law’s house where there will be sushi and other assorted goodies.
And guess who will be first in line for the sushi? The 5-year old. He loves it. And, of course, anything he does and likes, his younger brother wants to do and will like. So I can’t get them to eat peanut butter but some bright red maguro or flying fish roe – that’ll hit the spot. Go figure.
I’m grateful that they love fruit. After giving into their entreaties for the aforementioned unidentified chicken parts, they’ll gobble down any kind of fruit. Their drink(s) of choice are fruit juices or fat-free milk and water.
With another week to go, I’m counting on getting all of this figured out. They’re not starving, to be sure. But to my way of thinking, they shouldn’t grow up harboring any resentment toward their grandpa for meals he made for them, innocently believing that he could make food that they would eat and like.
So give me another week. In the meantime, I don’t get it.