Table Talk

I avoid family dinners.  I prefer to feed the kids first.   Then, Dave and I actually enjoy our dinner without anyone throwing food on the ground, demanding more mac and cheese, or refusing to eat vegetables.  When it is just Dave and I,  I don't have to raise my voice or say "Stay in your seat. How many times do I have to repeat myself?"  I feel a sense of relief around seven.  The kids quietly watch Shrek III for the hundredth time (great strong female characters).  We poor our wine, eat at a leisurely pace, and complete our sentences.

Today, I finished cooking early and against my better judgment, set the table for four.  The yelling began immediately.  "I am not eating grapes or green beans."  "Emily is hitting me."  I watched wearily as bread fell to the floor.  Taking notes from my friend Cheryl, I redirected the conversation and asked everyone to tell their favorite part of the day.  Dave judiciously told stories about both kids.  Emily explained how much she loved eating lunch, without Owen, at Dave's golf course.  (Concerned I would feel left out, she gave a shout out to our chess lesson stating it was also her favorite part.) Then, Owen started explaing his favorite part.  Still new at describing real events, Owen's "favorite part" story quickly turned into a long sordid tale involving each member of his class somehow hitting, biting, or scratching his eyes out.  When he ran out of classmates, he turned to beloved storybook characters.  I thought you might enjoy a clip.  Welcome to our dinner table....