There has been an issue weighing heavy on my heart lately. I understand that our world is in turmoil now, nations are at war, and there are people in Beverly Hills that cannot afford a 5,000 square foot home and have to settle for a 4,000 square foot home due to the economy. But selfishly, I need some help.
I find myself struggling with the nutritional value of the chicken nugget. See, Lord, I really need for the chicken nugget to be the next Super Food. I need it to appear on Oprah with Dr. Oz proclaiming that the chicken nugget, alone, can fuel the body and fight disease.
As you look upon our dinner table each night, you see the battle that wages in my kitchen. On most nights, I tell Monkey Man, “You will eat what I’ve made for dinner. This is not a restaurant. I do not cook different meals for everyone…blah, blah, blah…” I’m sure you are as bored and irritated with the whole scenario as I am, but you are much more patient than I.
Then there are the nights that I just do not have any fight left in me. Like Rocky without Mickey, I just can’t do it. That is when the pre-cooked, baked chicken nuggets (the McNugget is not a frequent guest, fortunately) get pulled from the freezer. Defeated, I heat up the toaster oven and try to convince myself that one day Monkey Man will eat salmon. And asparagus. And mashed potatoes. I guess it would help if I cooked salmon and asparagus, but you get my point.
Lord, I want what is best for Monkey Man. And what is best for Monkey Man is that Mommy doesn’t lose her mind over dinner every night. He will fare so much better down the road if mommy doesn’t feel the need to eat Xanax like Skittles every day at around 4:30 p.m.