Cook is a four-letter word. Even before I had children, cooking was not my favorite activity but at least it seemed worthwhile. I made dinners and at least Mr. Philately appreciated them�most of the time. In the past few years, the word �cook� has become as vile a word as any four-letter obscenity. Just ask my mother why.

When Mr. Philately and I were in London, my parents watched my children. They had a few minor skirmishes (after all, I left them with a teen and a tween) but my parents didn�t complain about that. No, the complaint I heard was about food and about how my mother gave up on trying to cook for my kids. I think they ended up living on macaroni and cheese and pizza. Even when she took them out to a restaurant, they managed to order macaroni and cheese.

When I started out with my kids, I had no intention of catering to them on food. Circumstances interfered some. First, Mr. Philately is a vegetarian so I either had to make them vegetarians or cater to him at bit. (Well, I admit that I didn�t HAVE to cater to him a bit but I decided it would be good for my marriage so I did.) Next, Kat developed a milk allergy, not a lactose intolerance but a casein allergy. Accommodating a vegetarian and a milk-free child required some catering. At a minimum, I had to make sure that each of them had enough items they could eat at any meal. Once I reached that point, I could not refuse to cater a bit to Day-Hay without running the risk that she would feel I loved them more. (Day-Hay has always been a bit of a scorekeeper. Every family has one and she�s ours.)

Nowadays, it gets out of control easily if you let it. I try not to let it. I�m not a short-order cook although I do try to make sure there is at least one dish that each person will eat. That�s not easy, though, when they keep changing what they will eat. It also discourages experimentation. I�m willing to let them go hungry occasionally, especially as Day-Hay lives on air much of the week anyway. It�s just no fun having everyone turn up their nose when I make an effort to make a nice dinner.

The worst problem, however, is one I try to keep a secret. I am a picky eater myself. If I experiment, I might not like it. If no one, including me, likes the new dish then I am a total failure.

So, anyone for reservations? We�ll go somewhere you can order mac and cheese if you want.

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