Dinnertime

I thought long and hard about what to call this post.  The working title was "Every F-ing Night," but once the wine took effect I calmed down and chose something more benign since I'm trying to set a good example for our next-door neighbors Nikki & Leah, who are still minors and also regular blog readers.  I'd like to apologize to their mom right now in case she's never able to experience grandparenthood because her kids have read my blog and decided to remain single and childless for life.

My close friend and coworker, Greg, once told me that his family sits down to dinner together every night.  I have a vague recollection that he went on about how important it is to have that daily connection but I might have gotten that from the old issue of Better Homes and Gardens that I keep reading at the orthodontist.  Somehow after almost 9 years of motherhood I still sometimes get a pang of regret/guilt that I'm not doing things the right way.  If a friend told me that she was feeling regret or guilt I would tell her that we're all just doing the best we can, but sometimes I forget to be kind to myself.

At mealtime, the kids usually eat at the counter stools facing into the kitchen.  Ben and I grab a few bites in between cooking, dishing out, refilling drinks, and cleaning up.  Tonight, soccer practice was canceled, so I made a nice dinner of pasta with chicken and broccoli, and garlic bread.  Ben plowed the stuff off of the table and we all sat down for a lovely dinner.  Norah actually confirmed, "WHAT?  We're eating at the table?  Not at the counter?!?!"

So I sat down with my delicious dinner and a glass of Naked Chardonnay (Trader Joe's - YUM - and no annoying cork to deal with so fast and easy access), all ready to talk about how everyone's day went and whether they were excited about going to the Big Apple Circus tomorrow.  What followed was a fairly rapid escalation into a situation that came close to requiring medical intervention, since I thought I was going to burst a blood vessel somewhere.  I think I may need to invest in an AED if we're going to sit at the table for dinner. 

Adlani is an extremely picky eater.  Up until now we have somewhat catered to his list of approved foods, but last weekend we decided that we'd had enough.  He'll be 6 in August and he should be able to eat more than just the 4 items on the approved list (yeah, right).  The new rule is that he has to try a little of what we make for dinner, and if he really hates it, he can have Cheerios.  I'm not cooking a separate meal for him every night, and the rest of us are not going to eat an all-nugget diet.  We're trying to ease him into the new rules, so when I put the trial portion of pasta on his plate, it had no chicken or broccoli - just pasta with a little bit of alfredo sauce.

I spent the next half-hour alternately urging, cheerleading, threatening, punishing, and cajoling him into eating one bite of the f-ing pasta.  The girls did a great job but since the squeaky wheel gets the grease I barely even registered their presence.  I don't know how their day went or whether they're excited about the circus.  I only know that Adlani screeched, cried, gagged, and drooled his way to an early bed-time without dinner.  Before you call DSS, he had a bowl of cereal after school so he will not starve, I promise.

After I carried him upstairs for the third time I was in serious fight-or-flight mode, and I picked up my plate and my wine, grabbed a book, and ate dinner in my car in the driveway.  When I calmed down and came inside, I went straight to bed to sleep off the post-traumatic stress (Adlani did too).  I woke up at 10:30 p.m. and here I am.

Tomorrow - it's back to the counter stools.
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