Why am I even cooking? They hate everything I make anyway.

I should buy organic meat. I wonder how many chemicals are in this crap. I read somewhere that meat with antibiotics makes kids go through puberty earlier. As if we need more meltdowns around here. I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’ll have to bribe and threaten them to eat more than three bites.

I should serve a vegetable of some kind…do apple slices count? Apples are almost vegetables. I mean, they’re produce. Maybe broccoli. Is broccoli cooked in the microwave even healthy or does the radiation cancel out the vitamins? Peas. They won’t eat them but I least I tried. I think I can have some in the freezer. Microwaved peas counts.

I’m so sick of making dinner. I can’t believe I have to do this until they’re 18. How do I spend so much money on groceries when they don’t even eat? I wonder what excuse they’ll come up for why my food is inedible tonight. Too spicy even though the only spice I used is literally salt? Too hot? Because blowing on your own food would be too difficult, right? Too much food? Because 1/3 of a cup of meat, vegetables and pasta is quite the feast.

Do toddlers all decide that crying at the feet of their parents is best done during dinner? I’d love to hold you but doing so while draining boiling hot pasta isn’t exactly ideal. I’ve tripped over this child three times in the past half hour, once while holding a chopping knife. Cooking around here feels like an episode of The Amazing Race and the prize is dirty dishes.

Why do they always beg for scraps while I’m cooking but look at the finished meal like it’s a vomit salad with vomit dressing topped with vomit croutons?

One of these days I’m just going to throw white bread, peanut butter, and jelly on the table and tell them to fend for themselves.

There’s the phone again. No, this isn’t a good time. 5PM is never a good time. How do they not know that by now?

Before kids I thought dinner was supposed to be family time. Now I know it’s the final stand before bedtime.

I’m exhausted. Are moms supposed to be this tired? Mothers on paper towel commercials always look so full of energy in their white jeans and 3/4 sleeve tops. Stupid white jeans. What kind of mom would wear white jeans? A mom who is being paid to pretend one paper towel is enough to clean up an entire jug of spilled Kool-Aid, that’s who.

I feel like I’m on an episode of Chopped. I’d like to see the people on Chopped try to make food with kids telling them that it “smells weird” and “I don’t like that” every three seconds. And then have the judges refuse to taste the food because “it looks weird.” And then of course those same judges would proclaim their hunger five minutes before bedtime.

If these kids comes into the kitchen begging for a snack one more time I’m going to lose my mind. Are they really asking me to stop making food so that I can ruin their already barely there appetite? Because that makes sense. Yes, let me put making dinner on pause to give you a bowl of cereal so you can reject the food I’m making even faster. What do they think I’m doing in here? Crossword puzzles? Kitchen yoga?

I wonder when they’ll start asking “what’s for dessert.” This ain’t a damn bakery, dessert is whatever you can find. Do they think I’m Betty Crocker? Look, I pin desserts, I don’t make them.

It would be nice to have one family meal where nobody cried but I know that’s asking a lot. Or maybe a meal where the baby doesn’t chuck his meal across the room like this is some kind of cafeteria food fight.

Well, I guess dinner is ready. Here goes nothing. I should have ordered pizza.

“DINNER TIME, KIDS!”