I am tired of cooking for ingrates.

I remember hearing my mother say that she never liked to cook, and now I understand why.

I fixed chicken noodle soup tonight, and of course the kids complained. I admit, it wasn't the most fantastic soup I'd ever fixed, but at least it didn't come anywhere near making them gag.

In dinner conversation (if that's what you want to call Finley's complaints, Joe's delay tactics, and my threats), Joe said something to the effect that it would be okay if I died, since they know to eat healthy food. Right. I'm sure apples, carrots, and cereal is the perfect, well-rounded diet.