 |
Wrestling over who gets to blow out the candles
is a lovely weekly tradition. |
Let’s face it, when the kids
were little -- we have 3 kids within 3 years of each other -- “family dinner” was
a concept for those other people who
had it all together. You know, the neighbors down the street where the mom
actually had her hair combed each day and didn’t constantly wear pants covered
in baby vomit.
Ah, good times.
Luckily, today, our family
has a little less baby vomit and a lot more hair combing. By which I mean that
I have now stepped out of the fog-of-early-motherhood
and can actually focus on bigger things like hair combing and the importance of
Family Dinner.
Family Dinner finally came
about when my youngest, my twins, stopped wiggling enough in second grade to be able to sit at the dining room table without falling out of the
chair or, I kid you not, ending up with a foot up on top of the table while
eating our spaghetti.
Up until then, the “dining room table” in our family had
been used as a glue-sticking-project-central location, a Thomas the Train
village and track, and the very infrequent location for entertaining wide-eyed friends,
if they dared enter the House of Chaos.
 |
Using Napkins as beards at Family Dinner
is highly frowned upon... |
I realized it was time to
have a ritual, a routine, on Sunday evenings that my husband and I marked down as
a recurring date in our Google family calendar “5:30pm: Family Dinner” to calm,
reconnect, recalibrate each Sunday evening before the busyness of a the week of soccer
carpooling, work travel and fifth grade math headaches ahead.
So we implemented it. Full
steam ahead. Out came grandma’s china. Hey, not plastic! Out came the “good napkins." Hey, not the 8 year old ones with Bob the Builder on them!
The kids
help set the table. Fork on the left, knife on the right. Little teeny spoon on
the top – which still to this day fascinates them to no end.
As we, mom and dad, cook, we
ask for some help from the kids where they are able to without lopping off a
digit, ie: no carrot chopping. Nothing fancy for the menu, but a complete,
balanced meal, with an actual green item or two included.
When everything makes it
onto the table hot and steaming and we’re all seated with: a) clothing on –
naked is NOT an option; b) hands washed – schmeg from the day does not end up
on “the good napkins”; c) legs forward, torso sort of forward – sitting
side-saddle is for cowgals; and d) pinching, poking and food throwing is
strictly forbidden for “the longest 20 minutes of their life”, our oldest son has
earned the honor of lighting the candles and we hold hands around the table.
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| The ideal Family Dinner plate at grandma's house. |
Which as you might imagine
set-off the “kooties” “ewwww grosss” from the younger set the first few times
so we had to resort to a “finger touch” at first, but now has become a normal,
not-disgusting part of the evening.
“Whose turn is it to say
grace?” we ask. (We are a family with little organized religion, so we bow to
this one lovely way to connect with something greater.) Hands shoot up all
around the table, everyone wants a say. So now we go around the table and each
get a little something to contribute, usually centering around, “I’m grateful
for the food and mom and dad and SORT OF for the annoying sibling across the
table and I’m VERY grateful for cute, little puppies and kitties.”
Surprisingly and
embarrassingly, one of our greatest challenges has been getting the kids to use
the forks and knives and NOT their hands to eat their food.
I seriously, even
last night after having Family Dinner for a year now, was jaw-droppingly
incredulous at their need to grab corn kernels with their fingers from the
plate, toss them into their mouth, miss, dig around in their lap for the lost
corn kernels, which are now squished into the back of the “good” dining room
chair, finally dig the corn kernels out of the crack, and pop them back into
their mouth with their fingers. And, 50% of the time, miss again.
 |
| What is this strange object and can we slurp directly from the spoon? |
All etiquette breaching, nails-on-the-blackboard aside like: “No, honey,
napkins are not for whirling over
your head like we do at Giants’ games…” these once a week Family Dinners
have become a touch-point for us.
The kids “look forward” to the calm meal.
They grumble less about clearing the table afterwards while we parents point
like Royalty at the items still to be cleared by our short, little serfs. They settle
and listen to the conversation about middle school PE stinking or having more
taste-buds when you are a kid Which is
why we don’t like spinach, Mom… very clever, these kids.
I can feel the shift.
I foresee Family Dinners
with special girlfriends and boyfriends then spouses and the circle of wiggly grandkids
way ahead. A central connection around a dinner table.
But, note, clothing not optional.
Namaste & Three Cheers! –
OM
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