I spent over an hour at the grocery store yesterday, carefully picking out food that I planned to use this week in the meals I wanted to cook for the family. I went up and down each aisle, while the kids whined and complained, and I did not break. This is how grocery shopping usually goes. They act like they are being maliciously tortured to death, and I explain to them that if we DON’T grocery shop, they will die. They don’t seem to care about death. I care about prison. And maybe them. So, they must be fed.
Fast forward to today. I have all of that food stocking my fridge and pantry. All the necessary ingredients to spend an hour or to slaving over the stove to prepare something awesome for my family for dinner- from scratch- just as I have before… but I’m not going to. They’re getting chicken strips. No, not from scratch chicken strips. From a bag chicken strips.
Was that the sound of super moms everywhere gasping in unison?
Look- I get it. I have the time, I have the ingredients, and I (kind of) have the skill to make dinner from scratch almost every night. I could do it. Maybe I SHOULD do. Hell, I’d even planned on doing it- but I’m not going to.
It’s not to punish them for acting like raging a-holes in the grocery store, or because I don’t think they deserve homemade meals. Honestly, it’s because I just don’t feel like it.
That’s right, I don’t feel like it. I really don’t. I’m tired, I’m kind of irritable, and when it comes to having to spend an hour plus in the kitchen while the kids complain about dinner not being ready yet, I’m tapping out. I’m not gonna do it. Not today. Maybe tomorrow–MAYBE–but not today.
Maybe to some people, this makes me a shitty parent. Maybe to some, I’m not “doing my job” if I’m feeding my kids food out of a bag, but if you ask me, it makes me human. WHICH I AM. Which ALL moms are.
Organic, cage-free, from scratch– look, that’s all great, but feeding the kids chicken strips or freezer-burned hot dogs or cereal for dinner once or twice a week isn’t going to hurt them. What WOULD hurt them is burning myself out. We parents, be us stay at home or work away or work at home or whatever the hell we are, don’t get a lot of breaks. Take it where you can get it. If that’s cracking your kids out in front of the TV, locking yourself in the bathroom and pretending you have the runs, or tossing some red sauce on top of some chicken strips and calling it “chicken parmesan”- if it soothes you, calms you, gives you just a little bit of relaxation or sanity back- DO IT AND DON’T FEEL BAD ABOUT IT.
Look, I’m not condoning or excusing shitty parenting- I just don’t think this is shitty parenting. We can have shitty moments, a shitty day, or ten shitty days as parents without actually being shitty parents. And it’s time we stop feeling shitty about that. Have I said shitty enough in this blog yet? One more- SHITTY.
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I am weak pic.twitter.com/LYdRQ6EZcC
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