Chef

We have a guy who makes us meals. With Diana’s schedule at the store and my schedule at America’s Finest News Source, we found that our diet, and more importantly our children’s diet was coming exclusively from three sources: Mac and Cheese, Creamy Mac and Cheese and Alfredo Mac and Cheese.

How I describe the service depends entirely on whom I am speaking with. If I want to seem like a total a-hole, I describe it as a man in a white toque who hands us gourmet meals on china.  If I want to seem like a normal human, I describe it as a brown box full of rubbery chicken and slimy vegetables tossed into a cooler we leave outside.

The truth lies in between. I actually quite like the meals. Elijah and Luca, on the other hand, have not eaten a single bite since we had the service started. Not. One. Bite. I think the moved past simply not liking the food and into more of a protest against lazy parenting.

They sit there night after night, with grey skin and red circles under their eyes and slowly succumb to the affects of Rickets. No amount of poor starving African children stories can get them to even take a bite.  Poor Hannah has thrown away so much food it’s giving her a complex.

So, in the interest of actually getting a single vitamin into our sons, we’ve canceled their portion of the system. And they will go back to a cheese based diet.