I Do Not Like Mealtimes. I Do Not Like Them, Mom I Am
Downstairs toasting bagels, I hear the boys galloping back and forth on the second floor. Then, silence. I walk up the stairs, hearing just the creak of the stair under my foot. I swing open Ben’s bedroom door, still seeing and hearing nothing. My heart catches just as I see them, in the far corner of the room, sitting side by side on the floor by the bookcase. Ben’s reading to John.
“Time for bagels,” I say, and go back downstairs.
Minutes later they come down, Ben saying “I’m hungry.”
“Gee, I didn’t even have to tell them twice! What a peaceful morning,” I think to myself. Even as I thought it, I knew I’d inflicted the evil Parent Jinx on myself.
“I don’t want a bagel,” John says.
“Well, I can eat it. What do you want?”
“Green eggs and ham,” he says with a sly smile. We agree on eggs, toast and ketchup. “And I want grape juice in a big-boy cup,” he adds.
“Water only in the big-boy cup.”
“NO!” He begins to cry. “I want grape juice in a big-boy cuuuuup!” He continues sobbing and throws himself at my legs as I try to get his eggs.
Ben joins in. “You want grape juice in a big-boy cup,” he laughs. “You can’t have it!” John sobs louder. “If mama didn’t give me my cup, I’d HIT her with the cup.” He breaks into hysterical laughter.
“Ben, you may not say unkind things,” I say, peeling John off the fridge to get the soymilk.
Ben gets up from the table and starts dancing around the kitchen, “Mama cup, mama cup, mama cup!” he sings.
I administer a timeout to Ben, instructing him to get himself dressed before coming back to the table. John takes the water I poured for him and brings it to the dining room table. He sits sipping it, the tantrum passed and a new-but-surely-fleeting attitude of sweetness and light overtaking him. “I’m waiting for my eggs,” he says primly.
I bend down to take out a pan, and a muscle in my low back spasms. Ben, who at 2 pm every day sprints to his bedroom, rips off his clothes and puts on his pajamas, comes around the corner. “I can’t put my shirt on,” he claims, still naked.
And to think, mealtime used to be my favorite time of the day.
“Time for bagels,” I say, and go back downstairs.
Minutes later they come down, Ben saying “I’m hungry.”
“Gee, I didn’t even have to tell them twice! What a peaceful morning,” I think to myself. Even as I thought it, I knew I’d inflicted the evil Parent Jinx on myself.
“I don’t want a bagel,” John says.
“Well, I can eat it. What do you want?”
“Green eggs and ham,” he says with a sly smile. We agree on eggs, toast and ketchup. “And I want grape juice in a big-boy cup,” he adds.
“Water only in the big-boy cup.”
“NO!” He begins to cry. “I want grape juice in a big-boy cuuuuup!” He continues sobbing and throws himself at my legs as I try to get his eggs.
Ben joins in. “You want grape juice in a big-boy cup,” he laughs. “You can’t have it!” John sobs louder. “If mama didn’t give me my cup, I’d HIT her with the cup.” He breaks into hysterical laughter.
“Ben, you may not say unkind things,” I say, peeling John off the fridge to get the soymilk.
Ben gets up from the table and starts dancing around the kitchen, “Mama cup, mama cup, mama cup!” he sings.
I administer a timeout to Ben, instructing him to get himself dressed before coming back to the table. John takes the water I poured for him and brings it to the dining room table. He sits sipping it, the tantrum passed and a new-but-surely-fleeting attitude of sweetness and light overtaking him. “I’m waiting for my eggs,” he says primly.
I bend down to take out a pan, and a muscle in my low back spasms. Ben, who at 2 pm every day sprints to his bedroom, rips off his clothes and puts on his pajamas, comes around the corner. “I can’t put my shirt on,” he claims, still naked.
And to think, mealtime used to be my favorite time of the day.
posted by Kris at
10:22 AM
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