Food and meals have always been important to me. What we put in our mouths something to say about how we feel and what we can provide. I was looking forward to sharing these moments around the table with Naomi. But it was not at all as expected. My planned communal meals usually ended in frustration and anger, and not at least a lot of pig. Naomi became frustrated at not being able to eat by herself, and that the spoon was empty when it reached the mouth. I myself became tired and fed up with a kitchen that was constantly messy and a child who could not eat the food I had prepared. The meals transformed slowly turned into a power struggle between us, a struggle on a rather sticky level battlefield.