I love that our kitchen table is the heart of our home. Ours is a warm honey oak, with a bit of color from the permanent markers and a scratch or two from a flying sidekick. There is a lovely milk ring, and something sticky that cannot be removed. It’s where we gather for a precious few minutes each day as a family to have dinner.
When it comes to our evening meals I do have to admit, my skills as a cook have really diminished since we started our family. There is a very good reason for that- we have three children. I have sadly lost my ability to flavor anything, and there is no longer such a thing as food presentation, (well, I guess there is, if you count the rule that nothing on the plate must touch.) I count dinner wildly successful if 80 percent of my family likes what I make. I am no longer allowed to cook with such items as spinach, parsley, or mushrooms. There is no hot sauce, or soy sauce with our meals, and we no longer remember what a casserole or stew is.
Our meals times are best described as eclectic. You never know what’s going to happen.
Our older two boys are routinely asked not to do Tae Kwon Do forms during dinner, and they have occasionally been known to sing off hand jingles containing subject matter on farts, poop and belching, followed by much giggling. My five year old routinely makes a bathroom run in the middle of dinner as well as spill his milk and drop his fork at least once. Our conversations are often punctuated with our baby’s babbling, as he shares input on his day, and someone usually asks him what a hippo looks like (he immediately forces his mouth as wide open as possible, with or without food in it). Last week, during a dinnertime session of “What does a cow say? What does a doggie say? I asked him, “What does Daddy say?” My middle son immediately flopped over in his chair and started a loud snoring imitation. Our oldest son, sagely answered, “No, Daddy says, ‘You guys quit messing around and eat your dinner!’ ”. The phrases, “Son, get your finger out of your brother’s nose!” and “Don’t put potatoes and gravy in your socks!” have actually been used at my table.
While I usually enjoy family dinners, sometimes they become too much to bear. I usually end up in Mommy’s “Happy Place”. This consists of mentally going through my own Tae Kwon Do forms in my head in order to preserve my remaining sanity. When my husband catches me staring vacantly at the ceiling he asks me where I am, I sigh and reply “Right here, Dear, with you and the children.” After all, there is no place like the heart of our home.
