The lass wasn’t happy with her dinner and she had no qualms letting me know about it. She didn’t say a single thing though. Her face and her actions spoke volumes.
I’d set dinner in front of her. It was a simple dinner consisting of pan seared pork chops and green beans. I made up the lass’ plate with no fanfare. To top things off, she had a nice glass of milk to wash it down with.
When I set it in front of her, she simply stared at it with a blank look. Then, still starting at is, she rested her head on her hands. I started eating the food on my plate and ignored her. The boy also noticed what was going on, but mercifully chose not to say anything.
I was a few bites into my own dinner when she finally picked up her fork and started poking at her green beans. She was avoiding the pork for the moment. It was at that point that I made my only comment to her. “Is there something wrong with the pork?” I asked. She mumbled no and her look became even more sour.
As the boy and I continued to work through our dinners, the lass continued to stare at hers. She finally started eating her green beans. Rather than use a fork, she picked each one up by pinching it between her thumb and index finger. She’d then stare at it for a moment, then slowly test each green bean like she was trying to figure out which was the bad one. I continued to keep my own comments to myself, doing my best to let her antics go unanswered.
The boy and I both finished out own helpings. I worked through a second helping and still the lass refused to touch the pork chop. She finished her final green bean and then made a show of pushing it to the side. The boy had cleaned up his own plate and put it in the dishwasher. By this point, I’d also finished up my dinner and began cleaning up as well.
Finally, at this point, when it was clear there was no backup plan and than I would not be humoring her antics, the lass frustratedly pulled her plate back in front of her and stabbed at the pork chop with her fork. She muttered something about not wanting any of the fat and then cut it off. She then hesitated and once again pushed the plate away, apparently deciding she would go hungry on principle, or something.
I was taking care of the dogs at that point. I didn’t look at her or say anything. Finally, her hunger won out. With a loud sigh she grabbed the plate and hurriedly consumed what was left of her dinner. She then complained that she was still hungry. I merely pointed at her untouched glass of milk and left it at that. She growled at me, but I’d already moved on to other things. She drank her milk quickly then pushed her plate and glass away. Normally, I’d expect her to put her stuff in the dishwasher, but since she’s gimpy for the time being I took care of it for her. The fat she’d cut off her food I placed in the dog’s bowl, where it was quickly consumed.
She then got herself setup on her crutches, a frown still etched into her face. I’m not sure if she was more furious at the dinner I’d served her, or at the fact that she’d actually eaten it. Personally, I was only concerned with the second part. Mostly, I was glad to have avoided shouting matches with an irrational 7 year old over food. Surprisingly, it turned out not be that difficult. All I did was nothing.