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I’ve been having a fight with the Geeklets these last few days, over peach cobbler. It goes like this:

Me: “Eat it!”

Kids: “No!”

Me: “Eat it!”

Kids: “No!”

Me: “Eat it!”

Kids: “No!”

Get the idea?

It is summer.  Peaches are in season.  They looked perfect, they smelled even better, they were on sale, and I know for a fact the Geeklets like peaches, so I brought a bunch of them home.  Juicy little pieces of heaven!  The kids ate some and half-ate others until there were just enough left to chop them up and make dessert.

I do not frequently bake from scratch, and when I do, it’s usually pretty darn healthy stuff, like 100% whole wheat banana bread or whole wheat peanut butter cookies sweetened with honey rather than sugar.  This time, though, I wanted to give everyone a sugary home-baked junk food treat, so I used tons of sugar, white flour, and half a pound of butter to make a gloriously bubbly-when-hot peach cobbler.  Talk about Nirvana for one’s nose.  If I weren’t doing Atkins, I would’ve gobbled the whole thing up before it was half-way out of the oven.  A burnt tongue would have been a small price to pay for inhaling it.  Have I mentioned that I love peach cobbler?

Every single Geeklet, and SuperDad too, refused to eat it.  It sat on the stove top cooling, and then on the table looking delicious and making me drool, all day long, and not a single kid showed any interest in it.  Actually, that’s not quite true. Geeklet #5 stuck his finger in it at one point.  But that was it!  No other interest.

Sometimes, life confuses me.  Sometimes, my kids confuse me.  Frequently, SuerDad confuses me, but that’s OK because he’s an evil genius computer geek with plans to take over the world, and he confuses everybody, so I don’t feel left out.  But peach cobbler?!?

They ate the raw peaches.  They like peaches.  But add a bunch of sugar and bake it up and it’s suddenly gross?  Untasteable, even?  Sigh.

I wanted to go hide under a rock.

I slaved over a hot stove all day . . . well, OK, it wasn’t that hard, but good grief.  I put effort and sugar and a half-pound of butter into making a home-baked treat for my family and they all but ran away screaming.  I felt very unappreciated.

I’m going to bring this up when they’re older.  I’m going to hold it over their heads. I’m going to guilt trip them over this, the ungrateful Geeklet wretches.  Gahhh!

That poor, lonely cobbler is still languishing uneaten in the fridge a few days later.  I can not bear the thought of throwing it out.  I wish I could eat it, but I’d rather not weigh 300 pounds again, thank you.  Heck, I gain a pound or two just giving it a sad glance now and then.  Another sigh.

On the bright side, SuperDad finally said he’d eat it, if it were apple cobbler rather than peach.  Now just let me find my magic wand . . .

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