First Stab at Family Dinner

Well I went for it.  Recently, some of the family brought over a delicious lentil soup, a fresh salad and a cake so bursting with sugary treats and confections that it looked like an edible version of the board game “Candyland”.  Note to self: grandparents are no longer allowed to be in charge of my kids’ desserts.  As if all that wasn't enough, my husband made a tomato pie that you could just die for.  

While we ate, it was much of the same as any dinner with the family.  There was someone complaining about the salad dressing and whether or not it should be applied to all the salad in the bowl or just individual servings.  Someone was asking why it was so HOT in here.  Unsolicited questions and comments were flying from every direction: “what do we have spoons out for?”  “can you get me a knife that actually CUTS?”  “who serves soup in this kind of bowl?”  Meanwhile the moms were serving everyone while the kids were adding to the confusion in the air with their relentless demands.  This one needs this, that one needs that, the other needs more and they all don’t like something that they have been given.  I expected my five year old to protest the lentil soup and he did...”Mom, this is beans.  I don’t like beans”.  (The way he says “I don’t like beans” is in the exact same sound that Joe Pesci says “I don’t see no stars” in My Cousin Vinny.)  A simple explanation that they were actually just brown peas, accompanied by a reminder that he likes peas did seem to help a bit.  Then there was the obligatory dispute over who “deserves” the last seat at the table..

”Please, sit, I insist”

“Oh no, you can sit! I sit all day! Please”

“I just couldn't you’re a guest in my home, you simply must”

“Oh, stop, I’m FINE standing! Really!” 

“No, you made the salad, I can’t possibly”

“But you were kind enough to have us over.”

This went on long enough that one of the kids had long since taken over that last seat anyway.  At least that intolerable exchange of pleasantries was finally put to rest.  Felt like it lasted hours. 

The kids hardly ate a bite because they knew that my diabetic father had provided the cake of all cakes.  They were practically having the shakes just thinking about it.  Can’t wait to add sugar to them just before bed on a Sunday!  Out came the cake.  The way the kids eyes bulged out, I’m thinking they were seeing this all in slow motion and hearing Angels sing while the light of God shone down from Heaven and cast an angelic glow upon this treat.  I almost wished I had tripped and dropped it just so I could hear my own delusional “record scratch” sound as their little dream shattered.  Ok, I guess that’s mean.  I’ll take that back...kind of.  I still think it would have been pretty funny.

After dinner the women split from the men and children...totally unintentional, I swear.  I could hear the kids upstairs laughing their little hearts out.  It made me feel so warm and fuzzy inside.  That is, until I heard my father making a weird “I just got the wind knocked out of me” kind of sound.  Come to find out, my father was flat on his back on the living room floor (still not clear on how that came to be) and the kids were jumping on his belly like he was a bouncy house.  Then the warm and fuzzy feeling came back again.  When we were kids we used to do the same thing to him.  Granted, when my kids knock the wind out of him, he makes funny faces and they laugh harder.  When we used to do it, our lives would be threatened and tools would be thrown at our faces.

All in all, the test run went well!  I’m definitely going to try it again with other branches of the family.  No one got into a fight, there was hardly any lentil soup on the floor, the food was delicious and as far as I know, we are all still on speaking terms!  Plus, for probably the first time ever, nothing spilled.  The only issue was that the dog stole at least one slice of tomato pie.  The Jerk.  But if that was the worst of it, I’ll take it!

Resurrecting the Family Dinner

I’m a strong believer in the family unit. I think it instills a sense of community, safety and identity in children, and is just a nice way for us all to bond. A great way to reinforce this is to carry on the tradition of Sunday dinners with the family. I love a nice gathering of everyone on Sunday over a nice, big, fat, heavy meal of appetizers and salad and pasta and meat and bread followed by an unnecessarily decadent dessert, a swig or two of some after dinner liquor and then the completely uncalled for cup of coffee. ...The coffee that you have to offer because it’s tradition and is just good manners. The coffee that you really shouldn't be drinking because it’s a Sunday night and it’s already gotten late. The coffee that will do nothing to give you the energy to clean up that huge dinner party mess, but will keep your eyes sprung open the minute you finally make it to your bed hours past your bed time. The coffee that, against their better judgment everyone will accept even though at this point, part of you wishes that they would just start packing up - no matter how much you love them and enjoy their company.

Today it’s much harder to accomplish this gathering every weekend the way it was generations before. For my family and many others, it used to be that most of the family lived on the same street - or at least within a block or two of one another. Everyone could bring something and just walk down. No one had excuses or obligations that held them back. No one needed a ride or were worried about the drive home. No one said they didn't have the money this week. With much more meager means than we are used to, they could still feed a brood 30 deep and keep it coming like they were running a restaurant! And since the women generally stayed home and cared for the house and kids, they weren't overly concerned with the fact that it was a Sunday at all. The men surely didn't care because they were getting their faces fed, and waited on hand-and-foot.  No one cared about not having enough room in the house either. Have you seen the size of most living rooms in Trenton? They used to pack them in like there like a prize was being offered for the house that held the most without any windows accidentally busting out from the pressure. People had tons of kids. Tons of them. I have 3, and by today’s standards that’s kind of on the high side. They were all so close, and here I am not even sure of how many cousins we have, and for sure my kids don’t even know a fraction of them. I think I’m much to blame, as is the generation before me. The family unit thing has slacked off quite a bit in the last generation.

Not allowing modern times to trample on family values, it’s been decided that we will be resurrecting this tradition on a more regular basis; i.e. more frequently than 2 weekends in a row followed by a 7 year hiatus. It’s going to be tricky. No one lives down the street any more. Everyone works. People are divorced. There are step-parents and step-kids and split branches everywhere on this family tree. Everyone has a short temper. This one doesn't talk to that one, and if you talk to “that one” then that surely means you’re on “that one’s” side so now you have to deal with “this one”. Thinking about it, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all - but I’ll be doing it anyway. Trust when I tell you, I rarely shy away from potentially disastrous plans. I always expect the best of everyone; high lofty hopes that THIS time everyone will just get along. I don’t know if that’s ever happened, but the odds say it’s bound to happen at least once. Wish me luck!