Time To Eat!

You can't even eat in my house.  It can't be like this for everyone, it just can't!  There is mass confusion at every meal.  You might think every meal was our first time trying to get together to eat.  I, of course, tend to think it's amusing while my husband spews a string of expletives the entire time.  He does have the decency to say most of it in Italian though - to protect the children of course.

Last night was no exception.  While I am trying to make dinner, I have my son running laps around the house, and I do mean that literally.  Through the kitchen, around the living room, back through the kitchen and so on.  Every so often he slips on a fridge magnet and goes sliding across the floor, bowling over his sister, the cat and sometimes me.  Generally, I am able to stay on my feet through it.  On the other end of the spectrum you have my daughter who spends 95% of her life trying to climb up my leg to be held.  Since she is so adorable and is the last baby, I usually oblige.  (and yes, I am well aware of the monster I am creating, thanks for pointing that out.)  These things are normal, but when I'm trying to cook it's not the best time.

I have 2 different things on the stove, 3 different things in the oven and the sink is on.  I have everyone asking if it's ready yet, as if they can't see what's going on. I'm trying to push dishes onto a kitchen table that is overrun with coloring books, paint brushes, newspapers, the laptop, 5 sippie cups with missing lids and random choking hazards that were put up there to be out of the baby's reach.  I would have cleared all this before I tried putting the plates on the table but I didn't think of it again today for the 4,000th day in a row.  In my defense I am pretty distracted with everything else so I should get a free pass every day for everything.

Me opening the oven and having my hands full seems to be every one's favorite opportunity to charge me.  My head in the hot oven reaching for the tray of food is my husband's favorite time to come up behind me and slap me on the ass.  Now as much as I appreciate this notion, I could be killed so it tends to set me off a little.  The kids come running at the very sound of the oven door.  Me yelling "get back! hot! dangerous!" means nothing to them apparently because they are completely unaffected by it.  Half the time I'm standing with the hot tray of food in one hand, trying to close the oven door with the other while balancing on one foot and using the other to hold the baby back.  I can't tell you how many times the dog or cat almost got flung into the air when I try to slam the door shut and don't notice they've stuck their little noses in the way.

Before everyone else sits, I strap the baby into her booster seat so I can serve dinner without her on me.  I ask my husband to cut up the baby's meat and then snatch the plate out of his hands just before it gets to the table because I feel the pieces are too big.  He cuts her meat into pieces that she could probably handle if I weren't so paranoid about choking.  When I cut up the meat, I bring down to just shy of a puree.  As I serve everyone their plates, I scan the table to see what I might have missed.  It appears everyone has everything, but that's only because I didn't notice no one has napkins or knives and the baby already dropped her fork.  Before I sit down, my son wants more and my daughter has fed most of hers to the dog.  I finally get my own food on the plate and sit. As the fork approaches my mouth it's like a red alarm that some better hurry up and need something or I might actually eat the first bite while it's still warm!

As predicted my son needs juice so I just get everyone juice because I know that's next.  While I'm up, I'll get every one's napkins and missing silverware.  I almost sit before I realize I don't have a drink for myself so back up and now they want seconds.  I diffuse the argument between my husband and my teenager about whether or not the teenager made a face when he was told to just "try" the eggplant.  I get a dirty look from both of them because you know I can never win.  As I attempt another bite my daughter pours her water down her shirt, my son says he's full and my husband slams his fist down on the table, bouncing all the silverware on the plates.  "Just eat your goddamn food!" he yells while the teenager starts to laugh.  This doesn't go over well with the husband and his angry stare only makes the teenager laugh harder.  I look over at my daughter who is gagging so I flip into a panic smacking her back and asking "are you OK? are you choking?? are you choking!!!???". Then in the sweetest voice ever, you almost hear her say "I'm OK Mommy" but that is drowned out with my husband saying "she's FINE April!".  I mean, I know I do that every 2 minutes, but still.  She shoves fistfuls of food in and doesn't like to chew in spite of me saying "chew chew chew!  little bites!" constantly for the duration of the meal.

The baby is painting her face and hair with sauce now so I know she's done eating.  Clean her up real quick and take her out of the seat so maybe I can start eating without further distractions.  My son sees she's done and immediately comes up with an excuse why he has to get up too whether it be he has to pee, he needs his blanket, he forgot his TV was on or whatever other excuse he has loaded.  This further angers my husband who now has his teeth clenched tight and is yelling through his lips.  That's never good.  I pour him more wine and tell my son he ate enough, and send them on their way.

By the time I actually get to start to eat my dinner it is ice cold and everyone has already left the table.  Once in a while I get "why does it take you so long to eat?"  I just smile and drink my wine before I hear a crash or crying come from somewhere in the house.