Eating dinner together is still a priority in our home. This doesn’t happen every night, but we’re still doing so more often than not. In this day and time…that is good enough for me. "Student life" and our consequential life with students is the primary culprit for disrupting Dinner as It Should Be. Perhaps the upside is I appreciate it more because it requires intention and determination.
The most glaring failure of my parenting (and I know I need to be thankful if this is, in fact, the case) is my kids are the pickiest eaters on the planet. No, really…they’ve earned the tee shirt, trophy, and blog button for it. I think there’s even a page devoted to them in the Guinness Book of World Records. I’m fairly certain this is genetic, and two thoughts occur: 1) it’s MY fault they don’t eat–as a child I was much the same, and 2) it gets worse in subsequent generations…this means my grandchildren will eat PB&Js and chicken nuggets and little else (which is half a step below my kids’ current choices).
But this isn’t about that, it’s about me being inappropriate. Motherly inappropriate. Heck, even Jesus-ly inappropriate….
So last night we’re eating dinner, a slice of Americana: meatloaf, feathered rice, glazed carrots (for them, raw), fried okra and herbed rolls. IT WAS A GOOD DINNER, PEOPLE! And what’s meatloaf if it isn’t a big ol’ honkin’ hamburger, ya know?!
I’m waiting them out…I’m gonna watch them pick out everything that makes meatloaf meatloaf until they clean they’re flippin’ plates. I picked that mountain to die on last night…for some reason, I was in a mood.
So I’m watching and waiting, my plate has long been licked clean, Tad’s moved on to football…and I’m still watchin’ and waitin’, ever aware that two of my kids are teenagers and we should be looooooooong past these days.
But, like I said, I climbed the mountain and I’m camping out, and in the name of all things pure and holy, I’m going to win. Even if it kills me.
Every few bites one would ask, "Is this enough" and I’d give them The Mother Glare which answered their sad, pitiful question loudly and without a word. They kept eating.
Finally, in a moment of abject exasperation and melodrama fit for a queen, I exploded, and enunciating every syllable for effect, said "Is-y’all’s-sin-gle-purpose-in-life-to-make-me-mis-er–" and before I could get out "able", Thomas chimed in, "…a living hell?!"
And it was right then and right there that they won…and knew it.
I started laughing.
Not just laughing, laughing til I cried (mmmm, what a dessert!).
Maybe this was a "you gotta be there" moment, but it was priceless to me.
And so I had to write it…to remember…
(and for the record…they all eventually ate their dinner… although it took Stephen until 15 minutes after the dishes were done to finish…)
Yep, kids say the darnedest things…:)