Eating In

We have a very clear set of roles at dinner time.

The Commentator
While the rest of us are trying to eat, Joseph likes to keep up a running dialogue with himself and whoever will reply to him. "Do you know what I think would be cool? What if our table turned into a space ship and we went zooming up into outer space and I was the space guy..." or "Mom, how come oranges are orange? Mom why is this grape juice dark but the other grape juice is light colored? Mom, how many more bites do I have to eat?" or "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA..."

The boy just can't eat quietly. This is the #1 reason I love to go to a restaurant sans children--I can talk. Or not talk. Or just respond politely to occasional inquiries. But yes, I can hear myself think!

The Literary Critic
Thomas likes to disassemble his food, throw half of it on the floor and then make the alphabet with the remaining smeared bits. A week or so ago, he was pushing mashed potatoes around until he cried joyfully, "O! Letter O! See Mom? Letter O!! See Mom? See Mom?" I tried to reply but Joseph was talking too loudly in the background.

Yesterday, while pretending to eating a sandwich, he and Joseph discovered that if you take one bit out of the center of each half of a sandwich and then put the halves back together, there is a letter O missing! It's not exactly the kind of literary discussion I'm looking for, but I'll take what I can get.

The Gastronome
Elijah meanwhile has very strong opinions about his food. And how it is served. And where he sits to enjoy it. And what he is wearing while eating. And who is sitting next to him. And the temperature of the air around him. And the general angle of our city in relation to the sun. And he loves to voice his opinions loudly at dinnertime. (And yes, he can be heard over the other two because he has the loudest voice in the world. Seriously. I should have the Guiness Book of World Records come and test him or something. He'll sing as "well" as his mommy one day.)

Anyhow, 'Lijah just loves to eat. I have to force him to stay upstairs during play time or else he'll sneak down and get into the fridge. (Literally.) He'll pull out any food he can find and try to unwrap it and consume it. Earlier today I found him sitting in front of the fridge trying to unwrap a stick of butter. Gross!

At dinner time, he'll usually refuse the food we give him at first. He'll demand we change it or fix it or do something different to it. I am not one for games at dinnertime while Joseph is talking my ear off and Thomas is dumping his bowl onto the floor. So I just take his food away and keep eating. Then he screams (even louder) that he wants it back. So the food goes back to him and then he eats ravenously until he's done.

The Kitchen Staff
That would be Mom (me) and the Dadster. We are responsible for trying to keep the customers happy. We give up on this before dinner even starts usually, and settle for trying to keep them nourished to some manageable level. Then we hose down the kids and start picking scraps of leftovers off the floor with napkins.

I'd rather have the role of the gastronome, please.