The Ebb and Flow of Dinner
Before Doug and I had kids, dinner typically was eaten in the living room, in front of the tv, while I sat on the couch and Doug sat in the recliner, the only sounds came from utensils scaping on the dinner plate and the tv. Then when Andrew started eating real food, we began to eat like a family: around the table, together, talking, eating, and enjoying one another's company. Doesn't it sound lovely? Ah yes, a peaceful, family dinner. hahahahaha I can assure you they are definitely not that now.
If one kid's not melting down, than the other is.
For example tonight. . . .
Andrew vs. Transformers. I should just hide this stupid toys (yep- that's right, I said stupid and I didn't even spell it) Everything seemed fine. Doug and I were preparing dinner together and Alexa was sitting in her chair grunting and demanding more banana, puffs, whatever I would put in her mouth. When suddenly . . . there was a high pitched scream of complete frustration from the living room. (Oh Dear, here it comes.) Then the stomping. Then undeciferable, high pitched squawking.
There are two courses of action a parent can take in this situation: 1- get involved with a completely irrational 5 year old, in which both of you will come away, sweaty, annoyed, and tired. or 2- just ignore it and hope he figures it out. I opted for option #2. Which means the squawking continued- but got quieter because instead of drifting into the kitchen to make sure we knew he was feeling highly agitated- he drifted into his room.
So dinner is ready- I go to get Andrew and tell him dinner was ready and find him laid out in the hallway- face down. (I won't lie- I searched for a camera and wouldn't you know it- I couldn't find it!) So I say very gently- "Andrew when you're feeling a little more calm- dinner is ready." (Aren't I the picture of calm and rational- at this point?) Not even a flinch to acknowlege my presence. (mmmm- are the Transformers actually real- and took out my child? I could sell this story to the National Enquirer and quit working!) So then I say, in yet another gentle voice- "Andrew I am sorry you're frustrated- but dinner is ready when you're ready to join us." Then I walk away. Well Doug goes to make an effort. Unfortunately his efforts result in psychotic screaming from Andrew. Since we are the most sensitive parents EVER- we sit down to eat. Sorry Andrew that you're having an emotional meltdown because the Transformers aren't doing right, but nothing stands in the way of my dinner.
After Doug, Alexa, and I have been eating for 10 minutes, Andrew slinks to the kitchen and joins us. Where within seconds of sitting down- he is laughing hysterically at Alexa (who admittedly was rather funny. She is a very loud eater. She enthusiastically enjoys all that she eats and must grunt and groan the entire time). But then when Doug points out that he needs to eat his green beans, he's suddenly moaning with displeasure at this development, but then. . . . nope. Now he's happy and running around the kitchen.
Now this is Andrew's story.
Tomorrow night- there will be Alexa's story. And I will stupidly attempt to help her get a morsel of food off of her cheek and she'll go balistic, and Andrew will be the picture of calm.
If one kid's not melting down, than the other is.
For example tonight. . . .
Andrew vs. Transformers. I should just hide this stupid toys (yep- that's right, I said stupid and I didn't even spell it) Everything seemed fine. Doug and I were preparing dinner together and Alexa was sitting in her chair grunting and demanding more banana, puffs, whatever I would put in her mouth. When suddenly . . . there was a high pitched scream of complete frustration from the living room. (Oh Dear, here it comes.) Then the stomping. Then undeciferable, high pitched squawking.
There are two courses of action a parent can take in this situation: 1- get involved with a completely irrational 5 year old, in which both of you will come away, sweaty, annoyed, and tired. or 2- just ignore it and hope he figures it out. I opted for option #2. Which means the squawking continued- but got quieter because instead of drifting into the kitchen to make sure we knew he was feeling highly agitated- he drifted into his room.
So dinner is ready- I go to get Andrew and tell him dinner was ready and find him laid out in the hallway- face down. (I won't lie- I searched for a camera and wouldn't you know it- I couldn't find it!) So I say very gently- "Andrew when you're feeling a little more calm- dinner is ready." (Aren't I the picture of calm and rational- at this point?) Not even a flinch to acknowlege my presence. (mmmm- are the Transformers actually real- and took out my child? I could sell this story to the National Enquirer and quit working!) So then I say, in yet another gentle voice- "Andrew I am sorry you're frustrated- but dinner is ready when you're ready to join us." Then I walk away. Well Doug goes to make an effort. Unfortunately his efforts result in psychotic screaming from Andrew. Since we are the most sensitive parents EVER- we sit down to eat. Sorry Andrew that you're having an emotional meltdown because the Transformers aren't doing right, but nothing stands in the way of my dinner.
After Doug, Alexa, and I have been eating for 10 minutes, Andrew slinks to the kitchen and joins us. Where within seconds of sitting down- he is laughing hysterically at Alexa (who admittedly was rather funny. She is a very loud eater. She enthusiastically enjoys all that she eats and must grunt and groan the entire time). But then when Doug points out that he needs to eat his green beans, he's suddenly moaning with displeasure at this development, but then. . . . nope. Now he's happy and running around the kitchen.
Now this is Andrew's story.
Tomorrow night- there will be Alexa's story. And I will stupidly attempt to help her get a morsel of food off of her cheek and she'll go balistic, and Andrew will be the picture of calm.
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