Get your sashes out and "stitch witch" on your Force Feeding badge.
I am Forced to Feed.
The whole "feed the family" thing scares me with the same amount of nerve wrack as "they're going to bite my hand off" in a petting zoo.
It's entirely up to me. The nutrition and health or lack-thereof of my family rests on my itty bitty shoulders. I have to make sure everyone gets their 16 vitamins and minerals and doesn't go hungry whether in home or on the run. I have to nag calcium into Girl's bones and see that her diet is more than a parade of after-school-snacks and that the Baconator I married gets some roughage now and then.
In the delivery room I transformed from my previous "happy eating a bowl of cereal for dinner on the couch in front of the TV" to a skilled and trained nutritionist. But I don't remember going to class for it, so I'm making it up as I go.
My basic raw mothering instincts tell me: "too much sugar is bad, three squares a day, get some greens in there, protein & calcium are musts."
I learned on the battlfield (and I'm not saying this with pride) that:
eating something before leaving the house staves off low sugar tantrums, a pizza in the freezer can save the day, pancakes are a good vehicle for sneaking in nutrients, no one really likes Tuna Supreez, there's no fighting halloween candy, oranges have calcium for someone who turns her nose up at milk, chocolate in the evening brings on the nightmare monster and ramen noodles are an embarrassing 'just keep the kids alive' secret in my pantry.
The non-stop merry-go-round of meals is a ride I am strapped onto with handcuffs. Somedays it's a hit, most days it's just tolerable but everyone is still alive and still asking "what's for dinner" so it can't be all that bad... can it?