Last night I was browning ground beef to make crock pot chili for tonight's dinner. I doubled the recipe to have plenty to freeze for those cold winter nights; therefore, I was cooking 3 pounds at one time.
First of all, ground beef has a nasty smell when it's being cooked.
Second of all, 3 pounds of ground beef has three times the nasty smell.
I was close to gagging.
Add that to the fact that I absolutely dislike touching raw meat, and it was close to bedtime, and I was having a very unpleasant evening.
As I was browning all that nasty-smelling raw meat, I began musing.
I am a fairly squeamish person.
I don't like to touch worms, I detest spiders, I refuse to remove the giblets from the cavity of the Thanksgiving turkey, and I don't want to be anywhere near vomit. Blood doesn't bother me, but gore does; hence, I don't watch scary movies, and I watch battle scenes through my fingers.
I won't even eat mushy cereal, including oatmeal.
I think I've done a good job so far not transferring this squeamishness onto my daughter.
Except the spider thing.
That one I can't help.
Cinderella absolutely loves worms. She's fascinated with Sleeping Beauty's bowel movements. She doesn't like mushy cereal either, but I make her eat it.
I don't want her to know my dislikes; I don't want to create a squeamish daughter, if I can help it.
I force her to eat zucchini, oatmeal, and eggs; foods I won't touch with a ten-foot pole, but which she actually enjoys.
She will not grow up a picky eater; if she becomes one later in life, that won't be my fault (or so I keep telling myself).
So, as long as I can continue to devise cunning ways to prevent my daughter from realizing that mommy's not eating eggs like everyone else, I will ("Mommy finished hers already." "Mommy gave hers to Daddy because he likes eggs so much.").
Who knew ground beef could cause such deep meditations?
The only thing left to ponder is why I'm cooking chili when it's going to be 92 degrees out today...