This evenings house specials; “two juicy chickens, serving white or dark meat, a choice of delicately cooked carrots or perhaps you may enjoy a side of ranch sauce and crunchy carrot sticks, we also have turnip, whipped and or baked potato, brown rice, creamy Caesar salad and finally mouth watering corn on the cob. Your beverage choice for the evening is crystal water, extra chilled milk or apple juice set at a delightful room temperature of 18 degrees – the chef has been quite busy all day!”
“Would you like a few minutes to decide?”
The trio take a moment. Each makes a glance around the table as if to ponder the perfect selection to satisfy their ravenous hunger, then, with one breath they announce their decisions with anticipation and delight….or NOT!
“Is this chicken? I don’t like chicken.”
“Why did you make this? You know “I” only like brown meat”
“Um, these carrots are too mushy. Why did you make the other ones?”
“This is gravy. I hate gravy…oh, dressing too…nope, not eating that!”
“Why does he get the bigger glass? I like that one.”
“Stop looking at me! I’m trying to eat my food.”
“Mom, how many bites did you say? Four? Four is good right?”
“If I eat three bites, can I have a snack?”
“I SAID STOP LOOKING AT ME!”
“Get your foot off my chair!”
“My foot’s not on your chair. But it is now! Ha ha ha.”
“Oh yeah, this is really disgusting.”
As I collected my food, I desperately tried to ignore the mind numbing sound of three Chihuahuas on speed. I quickly realized I was losing the battle. Patience and self control were hanging on by a thread. If there was anything worse than an overactive gag reflex and poopy underwear, it was feeding time at our stall. Day in and day out I go to great lengths to provide healthy, well rounded choices for my kids. I’ll admit that my repertoire is not big; however, the end result is always tasty to me. With five mouths to feed it’s always challenging to conjure something that is favourable to all. Yet, I feel I always provide a well rounded menu, with sufficient choice selection for all.
Tonight however, like many, many meal times before it was no different.
The little creatures were adamant in their refusal to eat, and I was not giving in to their demands. I stand in the doorway, watching as the food controversy escalates. ‘She stuck her finger in his potato’, ‘He totally just spit corn at me’, ‘I`m only eating three`, with an underlying dribble (gasp) that can be nothing other than someone`s drink making its way across the table and onto the floor.
Option A: Join the chaos with a full-out Mommy breakdown. Don’t eat the food! I only spent half the day in the kitchen. Which was hot enough to kill ya! You try finding something to make that everyone eats! Seriously! Have a go at it. Sweet mother of sh…..
Or, Option B, my choice for tonight.
Calmly I collect my dinner plate and glass of chilly milk then make my way past the little hooligans and into the bathroom. With dinner on the bathroom counter, I lock the door, run the cold water in the shower and breathe a sigh of relief, absorbing the serenity of the white noise. The floor is chilly and cooling. I am engaged by the sounds of the shower, oblivious to the destruction that may be occurring down the hall. With a toothpaste covered hand towel to cover my lap I eat my dinner with conviction and pure delight. My sanctuary, my happy place that allowed me to collect my thoughts and enjoy the fruits of my labour. All was good.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM….Mom? Are you in there?
