It's Dinner Time!

I have such fond memories of dinner time growing up.  Well, at least from young adulthood on.

As a kid, I can remember dreading dinner time.  I was a pathetically picky, slow eater.  By picky I mean that I didn't like tomatoes, onions and bell peppers.  And it seemed like every meal had tomatoes, onions and bell peppers.  Sorry, Mom.  It was a texture issue.  So I did away with the texture.  I would shovel a bite into my mouth, then quickly grab my cup, gulp, and swallow it whole.

Hey, that's way better than what the hubs admitted to doing as a kid.  Think long shag carpet.  Think peas.  Think carrots.  Think onions.  Think whatever-it-was-that-he-wanted-no-part-of.  There are some benefits to long shag carpet.  If you're a kid, that is.

Dinner-time for Claire @ 8 months (2 years ago)

But my memory of dinner-time didn't date back to toddler years.  If it had, I might have been forewarned.  Alas.

Dinner time with young children can be...a chore.  Stated more positively, it provides ample opportunities to exercise copious amounts of patience and perseverance.

Let me give you an example from a few nights ago...

"Ok!  It's dinner time!  The food's on the table!" I called out.

Everyone scurried toward the table and climbed into their "usual" seats. (Hopefully they washed their hands.)

"I didn't really want this for dinner," said Brandon.

I gave him "the look".

"I don't want to hear about it.  No complaining.  Besides, you haven't even tried it, yet," I replied.

"Yeah.  You get what you get and you don't through a fit," chanted Corrine.

"Ok, let's pray," said Allan.  "Claire, don't eat yet.  Sit down.  Close your eyes.  Ok."

"Can I pray?" asked Brandon.

"I wanted to pray," said Corrine.

"Ok, Corrine, you can since I prayed last night," said Brandon.

Phew, I do believe they're learning.

"Yay, Brandon!  Good job!  That was a nice way to share!" I gushed.  (We need all the positive reinforcement we can get around here.)

"Ok, go ahead and pray," said Allan.  "Wait.  Claire, sit down.  No more food."

"Hey, I don't have a fork," said Corrine.

"Why don't you go ahead and pray.  You can get one afterwards,"  I said.

"This isn't my cup.  My cup was the green one with the butterflies.  This is Claire's.  And I don't like it with little floaties in it," said Brandon.

"Well, trade then," I said.

"Ok.  Let's pray," said Allan.

"But I thought I was going to pray," said Corrine.

"Calm your gopher teeth.  You are.  Go ahead," Allan said.

"Dear Lord, thank you for this nice day.  Thank you that we got to play outside.  And for our food.  And help us--"

"Potty, potty!  I have to go potty!" said Claire.

Everyone opened their eyes (the ones that actually had their eyes closed).

"I'll take her.  You can pray without us," I said.

I took Claire to the bathroom while Corrine resumed praying.

Once we were back at the dinner table, I found Brandon devouring every last crumb of food that he "didn't want".  Eating for him is strictly business.  Kind of like the rest of his life.  Fast and furious.

Claire ate her food at a steady pace and cracked a joke from time to time.

Corrine was her usual self.  She would nibble a bit, then sit there in her own little world until I would remind her to eat another bite.  "Eat, Corrine, eat."

"Will you feed me?" she asked.

"Um...no.  You are 4 1/2 years old and entirely capable of feeding yourself," I said.

"Thank you for dinner, Momma!  Daddy, can I be excused?" asked Brandon.

"You're welcome, I'm glad you liked it," I replied.

Allan said, "Why don't you go ahead and sit back down and wait until the rest of us are finished."

With a deep sigh, Brandon sat back down.

"Ahhh!  Ahhhh!  Help!  Help!" cried Corrine.

She was sitting in her chair rather awkwardly.  I stared at her trying to figure out what was wrong.

"My elbow!  My elbow!  My elbow's stuck!"

Sure enough, she had stuck her elbow through the railing in the back of the chair and it was wedged tight.  I helped her re-position her arm, and it slid out.

After a few comforting pats, I said, "Don't stick your arm in there, ok?"

45-seconds later the shrieking began again.  "Ahhh!  Aaaahhh!  Help!  Heeelp!

You have GOT to be kidding.  The child is rather intelligent, yet she does not have one ounce of common sense.

There she was, sitting awkwardly in her chair, her elbow draw up behind her and wedged between the railing.  It brought another mental image to mind.  Think of a chicken.  Think of a squawking, mad chicken in a frightful panic.

For some reason, pity was not forth-coming.

Allan rescued her this time.

The rest of the meal was uneventful and full of the usual:  sit in your chair, your shirt is not a napkin, eat ALL of your veggies, close your mouth when you're chewing, sit in your chair, use this--it's called a fork, sit in your chair, please--more water please, and sit in your chair.  Eventually, the kids finished eating and were excused to go play.  Allan and I sat there a moment longer and relished in "dinner-time".

But the light is shinning at the end of the tunnel.  Hey, we actually get to all sit together and eat!  Four years ago, Allan and I would eat in shifts because Corrine was such a colicky baby.  One of us would scarf down our food, while the other tried calming tactics with the crying baby (every night from 6pm - bedtime).

I am looking forward to the days when we can all sit down to a meal, and eat our meal with calmness of manner all the while discussing life's many questions.  I have great hopes for their young adult years.  (Parents of young adults, please do not enlighten me otherwise).

For now, I will just sit back, relax, and enjoy the memories in the making...all the while shaking my head in wonder.