Raw Drip

I never fully realized the extent of all my quirks and hang-ups until I became a parent. For instance, I’ve always had a complicated relationship with food and eating, but only recently did I realize how pathetic and twisted it had become.

As I said in my previous post, I have the palate of a 4 year-old so, naturally, my meal choices tend to reflect my level of culinary sophistication appealing more to kids than to most mature, sensible adults. Unfortunately for me, this means I field endless requests for bites of my food at nearly every meal. Because I’m their mom, I know I’m supposed to be cool with sharing my food with them. As a grown-up I should set a good example and encourage them to try new things – even if it means that they end up picking over the food on my plate like buzzards devouring road kill. But as I watch my food being happily dissected by greasy fingers and stuffed into eager mouths whose lips smack in delight with every bite of MY meal – well, I have some trouble taking the high road. Okay, okay…the truth is I’ve yelled, pouted and refused to share. I admit it – I’m petty, selfish, and childish. See? Told you it was pathetic and twisted.

I attempt to rationalize my “no sharing” behavior to Dick by pointing out that It’s not like we’re starving the children; we always make sure they have something to nibble on. They should be fine with their own food. But it’s annoying to me the way my meals consistently appeal to everyone at the table.

I know my behavior is despicable, so I’ve tried to dodge the whole food sharing situation altogether through the use of reverse psychology and diversionary tactics. Countless times I’ve ordered something I really didn’t want – something I thought of as “safe” or “healthy” – for the express purpose of keeping it to myself, only to find my meal somehow drawing the unwanted attention of the swarming pizzarazzi. I’ve also lied to my kids telling them that my sirloin sliders were actually made with veggie patties (code for healthy). I’ve even ordered Dick’s meal for him, ordering semi-kid friendly fare in a failed attempt to deflect the food scavengers from picking apart my meal, for a change. Every step of the way my crafty crew outwit me and steal my food as I watch helplessly.

It’s not just the kids who demand that I share my food. Whenever I order my favorite margherita pizza – one I already am forced to share with my children – Dick always wants a few pieces, too. I usually pout and whine about sharing with him as he rolls his eyes in disgust and takes the slices from my plate. Of course, this has the result of infuriating me because you couldn’t pay me or the kids to even touch the stinking sausage, jalapeno & pineapple-laden pizza monstrosity that Dick orders! Not only does Dick get to eat his pizza and mine, too, he doesn’t even have a pizza anyone would want to share in the first place. It’s just not fair that I’m the one who always has to share…

But the full extent of my “no sharing food” hang-up was revealed the other night when I happened upon a favorite episode of “Friends” featuring a storyline with Joey dating a woman who, to his great annoyance, likes to eat his food.

Something must be seriously wrong with me, because I totally relate to Joey’s feelings. I’ve got to think that my ability to strongly identify with the views of a fictionalized man-child is a big red arrow pointing at an opportunity for personal growth. Years of therapy may only scratch the surface of this food issue.

So like most things related to my flawed appearance and my even more profoundly flawed character, if I can’t learn to overcome, I’m going to have to learn how to disguise. So readers, stay tuned for the future post on “Even More Things Left Unsaid” featuring at least one annecdote about me stifling the urge to bitch about sharing my food so I can stay married to Dick and, hopefully, raise children who eat their food instead of trying to get over their relationship with it.