I've really been falling down on the nutrition front this week. Last night G had mac and cheese for dinner -- not even the natural kind, but the Day-Glo orange stuff -- and I had canned soup and toast. Tonight we both had frozen pizza. I haven't served this sort of stuff regularly in a long time, but we've been so busy, and it's so easy, and blah blah blah excuses blah at least we're eating blah. I guess it's somewhat better than immediately after P died, when we literally ate nothing but takeout and pizza for six solid weeks. He died on July 2,and I don't think I cooked a single meal between then and when we moved on August 26. (Strangely, I just remembered that I didn't cook dinner the night before he died, either. He had a migraine and wasn't hungry, so G and I had food from Wahoo's. I thought I remembered every single thing we did that day, but I'd forgotten about that.)
For some reason, this dinnertime apathy is coming on the heels of a phase in which G was very interested in trying new foods, which of course was thrilling for me after years and years of dealing with typical little-kid fussiness. At the height of it, I think if she had turned to me and said, "You know, I'd like to taste cornmeal-crusted pickled asparagus with a lime drizzle," I'd have grabbed my keys and headed out to buy the ingredients without a moment's hesitation. She didn't come up with anything quite that adventurous, but she did add several foods to her repertoire that she'd previously refused to touch, including scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes, yogurt, baked potato, and the infamous mac and cheese. I've really got to get myself together and start offering her more variety again before that willingness fades away. Just as soon as we finish this case of frosted chocolate Pop-Tarts and barrel of Tang.