Jesus H- it's not a bloody steak.

Saturday morning the kid, the hubs and I all slept late. We ended up skipping breakfast and meeting my family for lunch at the local diner. The kid ate some fruit and a few french fries, but nothing that could be called a meal by anyone's standards.

When we got home after lunch, she said, "I wanna eat, Mama." After staring into the pantry and refrigerator for almost 15 minutes, she announced her desire for a peanut butter sandwich.

Since my child eats only fruit snacks and rice and gravy, I was a little more than shocked.

Me: Addie Jo- are you SURE you want a peanut butter sandwich?

A: I wann pea-butta!

Me: If I fix you a peanut butter sandwich, you WILL eat it. Do you understand?

A: Yes, ma'am. I EAT PEA-BUTTAAA! Please!

And so, I fixed her a one slice-folded over peanut butter sandwich. She licked it and decided it was not the sandwich she wanted.

The rest of our day went something like this:

A: I want snack, Mama.

Me: You have a peanut butter sandwich to eat.

A: I want chips, Mama.

Me: I fixed you a peanut butter sandwich , Adelaide.

A: I don't like pea-butter.

Me: Well, that's what you asked for AND THAT'S ALL YOU CAN HAVE!

At this point she took a bite of the sandwich and the look on her face told me that she was utterly offended by both the taste and texture of this vile sandwich I was forcing her to eat. In her defense, the bread was getting hard around the edges from sitting on the counter all day. In my defense, SHE ASKED FOR A DAMNED PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH!

At some point, the movie "Mommy Dearest" started playing in my head. For those of you who weren't required to watch this movie in high school (I can't remember, but it was either shown in Home Ecc as a "How not to raise children" video or in Drama Class as a "How to over-react to wire hangers" video), the rest of this post may not make sense to you.

There is a scene where Joan Crawford serves her children not-quite-yet-dead steaks for lunch.

Joan: Eat your steak!

Christina: It's raw.

Joan: It's not raw, it's rare.

The things are bleeding all over the table and her daughter refuses to eat it. Later that night, the steak is again offered to the child, who still refuses to eat it and so on and so forth. In this case, I can understand a child not wanting to eat a half-dead animal that she didn't ask for. However, a peanut butter sandwich is perfectly cooked, and quite freaking delicious if you ask me.

And so, the battle of the peanut butter sandwich wore on. She asked for food and I keep offering her the sandwich. And I would have kept offering her the sandwich, except when her father got home he walked in, saw the sandwich and ate it himself. Clearly, he was not aware of the lesson I was attempting to set forth.

When I die, I might leave them both out of my will. For reasons that will be clear to them.

(Again, if you didn't see Mommy Dearest, that last line isn't nearly as funny.)

Also, if she keeps giving me these eyes, we may have a "no wire hangers" situation erupt at our house soon. ***Note the use of Sally to push away the plate with the offensive sandwich on it. ***