My mother cooked dinner tonight. A lovely feast of pork loin, steamed broccoli, salad, and biscuits. It was well worth the wait.
I am a stickler for sitting at the dinner table together for as many meals as possible - even if dinner is just cereal. Our table chaos, and often there is at least one person crying and one drink spilled, but I love it so much. We have a tradition of saying our favorite happening from the day, which gives great insight into the kids lives. I'ts funny what different aged people think of us 'worst'.
Tonight we did not make it to that segment, however. I think that we were fit for Nanny 911, Dr. Phil, or Mary Poppins. Or all of the above. I asked the teenager to throw a salad together, which in 2012 involves opening the plastic container the greens arrived home in and slicing a couple of mushrooms tossing it all. Apparently this made the teenager angry as salad was made with much eye-rolling. She claims that in some countries this is a sign of deep respect. I'm not buying it. I asked the 8 year-old to help set the table which was cause for immediate tears because he's 'the only one who ever has to do anything.' Yes, he's the middle child. The 11-year old was compliant because she's hoping for something. I'm just not sure what.
We sat down to the table and the race was on to get the best cuts of meat, the best biscuit, and the smallest piece of broccoli, ensuring that all food had been thoroughly manhandled before ever hitting a plate. The toddler spilled a drink while smiling serenely. All adults were busy trying dry up the recent flood so the toddler seized the opportunity to stab his big brother in the forehead with a fork. Lee reprimanded the toddler, then the toddler cried and lamented the lost fork while I tended the big brother who was also crying. My mother was laughing uncontrollably the whole time. The stabbing caused my brother, Erik (who is mentally handicapped, f.y.i) to recount an alleged stabbing he was involved in. Apparently, or allegedly I should say, he was stabbed with an i-phone as he tried to take it from a stranger. Truth is stranger than fiction, people.
The good news is that during Erik's monologue my guy, Spencer, recovered from the fork wound and was able to begin spontaneously break-dancing. The teenager slunk away unnoticed to retire to the couch with a blanket and a book, and the 11-year old continued the role of most obedient. I'm scared to ask what that's about, but I'm willing to take full advantage of the situation. I'm hoping to get a back rub out of her before the night's over.
I think I ate, but I can't be certain.
The moral of the story is, eat dinner together.
P.S. The whole time I have typed Erik has unceasingly given a narrative of every stabbing he's ever thought about, read about, or seen re-enacted on t.v. and my boys have performed physics experiments by sending toys down the stairs on an orange lunch tray (I have no idea where the dag-on lunch tray came from). This is authentic living, my friends.
I am a stickler for sitting at the dinner table together for as many meals as possible - even if dinner is just cereal. Our table chaos, and often there is at least one person crying and one drink spilled, but I love it so much. We have a tradition of saying our favorite happening from the day, which gives great insight into the kids lives. I'ts funny what different aged people think of us 'worst'.
Tonight we did not make it to that segment, however. I think that we were fit for Nanny 911, Dr. Phil, or Mary Poppins. Or all of the above. I asked the teenager to throw a salad together, which in 2012 involves opening the plastic container the greens arrived home in and slicing a couple of mushrooms tossing it all. Apparently this made the teenager angry as salad was made with much eye-rolling. She claims that in some countries this is a sign of deep respect. I'm not buying it. I asked the 8 year-old to help set the table which was cause for immediate tears because he's 'the only one who ever has to do anything.' Yes, he's the middle child. The 11-year old was compliant because she's hoping for something. I'm just not sure what.
We sat down to the table and the race was on to get the best cuts of meat, the best biscuit, and the smallest piece of broccoli, ensuring that all food had been thoroughly manhandled before ever hitting a plate. The toddler spilled a drink while smiling serenely. All adults were busy trying dry up the recent flood so the toddler seized the opportunity to stab his big brother in the forehead with a fork. Lee reprimanded the toddler, then the toddler cried and lamented the lost fork while I tended the big brother who was also crying. My mother was laughing uncontrollably the whole time. The stabbing caused my brother, Erik (who is mentally handicapped, f.y.i) to recount an alleged stabbing he was involved in. Apparently, or allegedly I should say, he was stabbed with an i-phone as he tried to take it from a stranger. Truth is stranger than fiction, people.
The good news is that during Erik's monologue my guy, Spencer, recovered from the fork wound and was able to begin spontaneously break-dancing. The teenager slunk away unnoticed to retire to the couch with a blanket and a book, and the 11-year old continued the role of most obedient. I'm scared to ask what that's about, but I'm willing to take full advantage of the situation. I'm hoping to get a back rub out of her before the night's over.
I think I ate, but I can't be certain.
The moral of the story is, eat dinner together.
P.S. The whole time I have typed Erik has unceasingly given a narrative of every stabbing he's ever thought about, read about, or seen re-enacted on t.v. and my boys have performed physics experiments by sending toys down the stairs on an orange lunch tray (I have no idea where the dag-on lunch tray came from). This is authentic living, my friends.
Sharing stories comes as naturally to me as breathing.I write here so I can do that. Grab a cup of something and stay a while.
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Linus spills a drink at EVERY meal, and he can't sit still, he walks laps around the table while he talks and only stops to take bites intermittently while wiping his food all over his clothes. Alice cries if she can't sit between both of her parents, and prays "I hope my daddy will dance with me tomorrow." Felix starts screaming to nurse the minute the food hits my mouth. Someone at least once has to be told to take their nasty feet OFF the table. *Sigh* I can't wait to get a dining room table and invite you guys over for some melded chaos.
ReplyDeleteOh, Kate. You are living authentically, too! :) Let's take black and white photos so it looks like the good ole days.
ReplyDeletethe beauty of the whole meal was during the insanity I was able to commendear the last of the butter for my biscuits and though I usually prefer half a stick per biscuit and was happy to get all that was left while the debate insued on why her mom and I were putting applesauce on our pork chops lol never a dull moment hahaha
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