Killing the family with kindness
Thanks to all of my readers who have sent me their favorite oatmeal recipes! If you've got a good one to share, post it in the comments for all to read!
“Dear, I love you and everything, but this is the worst dinner you have ever cooked in all of our ten years of marriage.”
All of that from one meal that Wilford Brimley told me was “the right thing to do.” But I guess it wasn’t “the tasty way to do it.”
I have this odd relationship with oatmeal. Always have, always will. I think it stems from the fact that I figured out, at a young age, that if I taught myself to like things that other people didn’t want, I would have more. The revelation hit at Girl Scout camp when I watched so many mistakenly burnt marshmallows go into the fire. With the limit set at two per girl, I quickly upped my intake by offering not to waste the burnt ones.
It naturally follows then that I also learned to like black jelly beans, mushrooms, and prunes.
Added to the list is oatmeal which was never really a competition food, but something I truly enjoyed as a kid. Rushing to open that new variety pack and get the brown sugar and maple before anyone else was a challenge, and after winning that battle I’d work my way down through the apples and cinnamon, the cinnamon spice, and I honestly to this day don’t know whatever happened to the oodles of unflavored oatmeal that no one ever ate.
But back to torturous wife and mother I have become.
A dear friend shared one of her family’s favorite recipes after learning of my love for oatmeal. “Baked Oatmeal,” she said, was such a hit that her husband said he could eat it multiple times per week for dinner.
Inexpensive, easy, and healthy, I was so excited to serve the dish to my own family. The simple ingredients went together with ease, and it smelled so delicious in the oven! I sniffed and imagined all of the money and time I would save by happily feeding my family this nutritious and hearty meal. I set the table and put little bowls of brown sugar and raisins out and gave everyone an oversized bowl in which to scoop what was quickly becoming the world’s best meal.
But then we sat down to eat. And the comments came.
Besides that humdinger from my husband, I also got a request for leftovers from one child and the other charmed us with a made-up knock-knock whose punchline was “scoopy-poopy oatmeal.”
I admit the recipe might have needed some tweaking for my liking, but still, it was oatmeal. It was good, and good for you, and really I was just trying to do the right thing for my family. But I can admit failure and while I finished my own bowl, the rest was scraped away and I sadly boiled up some last minute pasta for the rest of the gang.
Time passes and a completely different friend shares a new and exciting slow cooker oatmeal recipe with me. The thought of waking up to the nutty sweetness made me sleep soundly and I confess with more than normal drool. I even woke up early without the aid of an alarm clock and served myself the largest bowl that I could, which, as we oatmeal-eaters know, isn’t very big because as wonderful as it is, the stuff sits like a boulder in your belly.
Sweet and drippy, I finally thought I had found a way to share oatmeal with even the pickiest eaters of my family and get them to eat this naturally delightful food that I was convinced would keep them all healthy for life. One by one, they came down the stairs, only to crinkle their noses and ask for cereal. Even my husband who kindly ate half of a small bowl eventually turned to something else.
And then, right then, I realized why the single serving packages are so popular. But I’ll never know what to do with the unflavored packs.
“Dear, I love you and everything, but this is the worst dinner you have ever cooked in all of our ten years of marriage.”
All of that from one meal that Wilford Brimley told me was “the right thing to do.” But I guess it wasn’t “the tasty way to do it.”
I have this odd relationship with oatmeal. Always have, always will. I think it stems from the fact that I figured out, at a young age, that if I taught myself to like things that other people didn’t want, I would have more. The revelation hit at Girl Scout camp when I watched so many mistakenly burnt marshmallows go into the fire. With the limit set at two per girl, I quickly upped my intake by offering not to waste the burnt ones.
It naturally follows then that I also learned to like black jelly beans, mushrooms, and prunes.
Added to the list is oatmeal which was never really a competition food, but something I truly enjoyed as a kid. Rushing to open that new variety pack and get the brown sugar and maple before anyone else was a challenge, and after winning that battle I’d work my way down through the apples and cinnamon, the cinnamon spice, and I honestly to this day don’t know whatever happened to the oodles of unflavored oatmeal that no one ever ate.
But back to torturous wife and mother I have become.
A dear friend shared one of her family’s favorite recipes after learning of my love for oatmeal. “Baked Oatmeal,” she said, was such a hit that her husband said he could eat it multiple times per week for dinner.
Inexpensive, easy, and healthy, I was so excited to serve the dish to my own family. The simple ingredients went together with ease, and it smelled so delicious in the oven! I sniffed and imagined all of the money and time I would save by happily feeding my family this nutritious and hearty meal. I set the table and put little bowls of brown sugar and raisins out and gave everyone an oversized bowl in which to scoop what was quickly becoming the world’s best meal.
But then we sat down to eat. And the comments came.
Besides that humdinger from my husband, I also got a request for leftovers from one child and the other charmed us with a made-up knock-knock whose punchline was “scoopy-poopy oatmeal.”
I admit the recipe might have needed some tweaking for my liking, but still, it was oatmeal. It was good, and good for you, and really I was just trying to do the right thing for my family. But I can admit failure and while I finished my own bowl, the rest was scraped away and I sadly boiled up some last minute pasta for the rest of the gang.
Time passes and a completely different friend shares a new and exciting slow cooker oatmeal recipe with me. The thought of waking up to the nutty sweetness made me sleep soundly and I confess with more than normal drool. I even woke up early without the aid of an alarm clock and served myself the largest bowl that I could, which, as we oatmeal-eaters know, isn’t very big because as wonderful as it is, the stuff sits like a boulder in your belly.
Sweet and drippy, I finally thought I had found a way to share oatmeal with even the pickiest eaters of my family and get them to eat this naturally delightful food that I was convinced would keep them all healthy for life. One by one, they came down the stairs, only to crinkle their noses and ask for cereal. Even my husband who kindly ate half of a small bowl eventually turned to something else.
And then, right then, I realized why the single serving packages are so popular. But I’ll never know what to do with the unflavored packs.
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