The whole timetable thingy has been a huge success. You may remember from a previous post where I finally admitted that I needed to budget my time and money. So I started with a weekly meal planner which features my family’s favourite meals. On each day I have about three options- hard, not so hard and dead easy to fit in nicely with my mood or energy levels for the day. I shop for the week knowing exactly what we’ll be eating throughout the week. Hubby isn’t picky and most of the time is happy with whatever I cook. Occasionally I get the ‘Nah, I’m not feeling that Toks’ . On those days I give him the impression that he actually has a choice. This is when I pull out my other 2 options and he decides. Or so he thinks. As for the kids they don’t have a preference- that’s African parenting for you. There is no “Sweetheart what will you like to eat?” Instead it is “What is that meal you hate so much? Rice and Broccoli Stew? You better clean your plate, I’ll be watching you because that’s what we’re having!”.
Some African Parents love to play God. They decide what their children will study at school. Who they will get married to and when. They plan the wedding, pick the colours and decide on the guest list. Actually this happens in many cultures. In some cases they even name the children borne out of the marriage, I have a cousin who loathes his own son’s name because his parents chose the name.
So it is with great pride that I preside over my family’s nutrition and choice of meals, even when they think they are exercising their own judgement, it isn’t really the case. Heck I even control their thoughts!
Like the X-factor drama. For my non-UK readers this is the UK’s version of American Idol. Viewers were made to think that they decided on which act stayed and which one was voted off, until Sunday when the two horrors by the name of John and Edward where “voted” to remain on the show. Word is that the results were rigged and Simon has secretly supported those two from the beginning. Poor Simon.
There are rules about playing God. For one don’t protest too much. You don’t want to risk having to make a decision that goes completely against the crusade you have been running. To go from “these boys are horrific, I will leave the country if they win” to “I-I-I can’t decide” is a banned u-turn and there are cameras everywhere.
So when I take my throne as she-who-cooks-whatever-she-absolutely-wants-to-and-you-must-eat-it, you will not catch me protesting too much when child number 3 tells me he hates fish and don’t I remember that he is allergic to it? I will gently coax him and convince him that tuna is not fish. It’s just another type of seafood. After all I can’t please everyone, I’m not God.