I have learned over the years that there are certain combinations of words that you just don’t want to hear from your children as a parent. I haven’t heard ALL of these yet, but I know I don’t want to hear them.
-Would you like to see my piercing?
-Mom, Dad… I got her pregnant.
-I know I’m only 13 daddy, but Snake and I are in love!
-Where do we keep the fire extinguisher?
-I think someone pooped in the bathtub.
Most of these things are fairly stereotypical. You hear about them in movies. But of all the things you could hear (Either fake or real) the one that stops me in my tracks the fastest is this…
“Dad, What’s for dinner?”
CRAP! I have no flippin clue. It’s only four thir…… DOUBLE CRAP! It’s almost SIX.
Mom’s not home to yell at me to make something which means I’m on my own here. This isn’t that big of a deal since I do the cooking every night anyways. But now I have to come up with something quick, easy, and that they will ACTUALLY eat.
Might as well go paint a chapel ceiling cause’ that will be WAY easier than THIS task.
Okay, seriously, what to make for dinner.
After a quick look in the cupboard I realize I don’t have a lot of quick and easy stuff. Lots of meats and such, but not a lot that’s fast.
Suddenly, I spy the pasta.
I’m making spaghetti tonight.
Freaking SWEET! I love spaghetti, but my family hates it. Every last one of them. Seriously… how does one make it this far in their life and NOT eat spaghetti? It’s a freaking staple of civilized society for the love of Odin.
Well, I know I want spaghetti, so now I gotta figure out a way to make the kids eat it. I have garlic bread, and I know they will eat that, but that doesn’t solve my spaghetti problem.
While I’m digging through the freezer looking for something that I could make other than the awesome pasta that I have running through my head, I moved around a bag of Rhoades Bread Dough. (I love that stuff).
I didn’t think too much about it at the exact moment I saw it but by the time I made it upstairs, I knew what I was going to do.
Genius had struck!
Okay, before we go any further with the dinner train of thought, I need to give a short backstory.
I grew up eating something called “Cowboy Bread”. That stuff was AMAZING. Deep fried bread type substance that my mom made on occasion. Apparently, my uncles wouldn’t eat elephant ears when they were kids back in the 50’s so my grandmother called it “Cowboy Bread” because my uncles were always playing cowboys and indians. My mother picked up the term and it stuck. So this amazing bread that I ate as a kid was simply re-branded fried bread dough. Simple enough, but freaking amazing with a little bit of cinnamon and sugar.
I apologize, my back stories are usually WAY WAY better than this. I might not have the commitment to that one that I should.. but meh. Whatever.
Okay, so I’m walking up the stairs from the basement and inspiration hits. Instead of calling it spaghetti, I’m calling it… uhm… canned noodles? No, they’ll figure that out. Uhm… “Super Spaghetti”?…. HA, even I’m not dumb enough to fall for that. ooohh…. I got it… “Potted Lasagna”. (Turns out it wasn’t even a real thing yet… I might have to patent this one.)
So, as I’m standing in the kitchen, before I open anything, I yell to the kids…
“HEY! Who wants potted lasagna?”
Hayden: Uhm… sure.
Dinner is ON!
So I make the noodles, and I throw the sauce in the pan afterwards (which I never do) and I let the whole thing cool off a tad. I throw a little shredded cheese in the bottom of a bowl. I top it with the spaghetti and I top it with a touch more shredded cheese.
Now people, for all intents and purposes, THIS IS LASAGNA! I don’t care how you slice it… It’s freaking lasagna.
So, Lillie devoured hers in a heartbeat. Hell, she even asked for seconds. Now if I had told her that she was eating spaghetti, she would have freaked the hell out. But… this did not happen. Dinner for her was a success.
However there is the issue of Hayden. This kid is WAY smarter than I honestly give him credit for. I set that bowl down in front of him and he stopped. He looked at me and stared for a moment. Three words escaped his ever truthful lips… “This is spaghetti”.
I had to poke, prod, bargain, urge, yell, plead, cry, and cajole, but I finally got the boy to eat. I dunno if I’ll be trying that one again with him any time soon. But for Lillie, it was a stellar success.
Now I gotta figure out what I’m making for dinner tomorrow.