I’m still in my pajamas, but I’ll get dressed before I go to Walmart, unlike some customers.
It occurred to me that if I have a week of meal plans and the ingredients for them, I’ll be less stressed when someone wanders through the house, “just thinking out loud” that they wonder what is being served for supper.
Hours later. And then, if I say, “Oh, nothing in particular, but if you’ll tell me what you want, the boys and I will see that it is produced,” the reply is, “No, I don’t care.”
GAH. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t said anything. Or maybe that’s just me: when I say something, even if it’s just to the general environment, it’s because I want everyone within earshot to hear it and get a message.
Igor wasn’t quite so subtle. A phone call from the office at 1000 asking what’s for dinner. My answer: Food. Him: What kind of food. Me: Edible.
The kids picked up on it sooner than he did, and they would answer for me.
Yes, taxing, that not-really-controlling control.
There is also the old stand-by: Why? Did you have something specific in mind? If so, you’ll have to go get the ingredients.
Sadly, I’m not much fun to play Mealtime Games with. I’m more likely to voice my opinions in a quiet and calm manner than to blow up, and somehow, that quiet calmness was harder to deal with.
If I’ve spent all day with growing people who demand things, by the time meals are called for, I’d be in no mood for games. As a final resort, “If you don’t like what I fix, go out to eat.”