This evening's menu:
Grilled fish
Baked potato
Steamed carrot and broccoli
(In my defence, I ate this too...)
Boy #1 (not even sitting down yet): I don't want the broccoli!
Me: You don't have to eat it. Just have the fish, potato and carrot and we'll forget about the broccoli. (This is not a strong negotiating stance to open with, I agree. What can I say? Carrot is such a recent addition to his diet that as long something on his plate with colour gets eaten, I'm grateful...)
Boy #1: Okaaay (Sighing heavily and climbing up on his chair, the weight of the world on his shoulders)
Boy #2 has, meanwhile, climbed up his chair, hooked his bib around his neck himself and has started eating single-mindedly. Thank god. Mind you, the day something comes between him and his food...
Boy #1: Wait! WAIT! I need to go the loo, I said!
Me: Fine, off you go. Try not to be too long, this will taste much better warm.
Boy #1 (settling in for a long discussion of the merits of hot vs cold food): Why?
Me: Well, because (oh, I see what you're doing) - oh, we'll talk about it when you get back. Don't you need the loo?
Boy #2 eats his first piece of broccoli. Then he spits it out again. I hook it out of his pelican bib and surreptitiously place it back on his plate...
Boy #1: Yes. Yes! I need the loo. I am Tommy Zoom, and I need the loo. Up, up and away! And you are Elastigirl. I know a song about Tommy Zoom, I will sing it to you... Tommy Zoom, Tommy Zoom, he can save the moon, Tommy Zoom, Tommy Zoom, he is coming soon...
Boy#1 punches the air in 'black power' type salute for emphasis as leaps down from his chair, waggles his skinny hips and assumes a menacing crouch position. Boy #2 stops eating his potato and begins to extract the broccoli from his plate; his affronted expression is reminiscent of a maiden aunt presented with a packet of condums. He then uses the broccoli to create a very natural looking forest around the model Boeing 747 (complete with opening and shutting doors) that has unaccountably found it's way onto the table. I put a stop to this particular party when the fish begins to join the vegetation.
Me: Boy #1! Weren't you off to the loo?
Boy #1: I am NOT Boy #1. I am Tommy Zoom! And you, you are Polluto. I can sing you a song about Polluto; Polluto, Polluto...
Boy #2 takes some potato and, taking advantage of the floor show, grabs the opportunity to shove it into the doors of the Boeing. Great.
Me (deciding to laugh rather than the alternative): Tommy Zoom, I thought you needed the bathroom.
Boy #1: No.
Me: No?
Boy #1, aka Little Lord Fauntleroy: I do NOT need the Bathroom. I need the Loo. Come along, Daniel (addressed to Boy #2. Daniel is Tommy Zoom's dog).
Me (head in hands as Boy #2 obligingly starts to get down from the table): Hold on a moment. Daniel hasn't finished his dinner yet. Why does Daniel need to go?
Boy #1: BECAUSE, I said, Daniel needs the loo. Don't you, Daniel?
Boy #2, nodding solemnly: Woof.
Good grief. Do you think they are watching too much tv?
Sounds so familiar. It's not like we're trying to poison them, is it?
ReplyDeleteI usually resort to bribery, blackmail or tickle torture.
I know exactly what you mean about lists (previous post.) When you have kids your memory is shot, so you need them even more. They work - don't knock it. I have one on the desk next to me of things to do before Christmas - it's two pieces of A4 stapled together - I'm working through it slowly.
Mya x
Hi Mya, tickle torture sounds good, if messy - I might try that tonight.
ReplyDeleteAnd the lists - well, am trying not to get overwhelmed by them but they do make (my) life so much simpler. Clever of you to confine yourself to 2 pieces of A4; I have an entire book for mine (admittedly, it IS pocket size). The problems arise when my darling Husband starts trying to add HIS things to MY list; then I become rather posessive and things can get ugly. Make your own lists, sweetheart...
PS - those of us with list-mania should schedule in a virtual knees up to celebrate when we finally get to the end of our Christmas plan lists - say, sometime around 3am Christmas morning?
ReplyDeleteHow do you do that thing of not shouting at them and then throwing the broccoli across the floor in a rage? What a lovely, lovely mother you are. If only I'd been like that, none of my children would be shouting at me now.
ReplyDeleteOM - of course I'm like that ALL the time. No shouting here, no sirree. Well, maybe a little. Or a lot - depending on how much you think is a little and a lot...
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comments on the last 2 posts as well; that's a good idea on the lists, e-mail versions would definitely pack more punch for a man who lives by his Blackberry. And I'm very glad you enjoyed the full story of the almshouses. It seemed to go on, rather, to me - but brevity is not my strong point. As you can tell by this comment, perhaps...
don't know about too much tv, just what are you putting in their food? That was like reading some surreal Stoppard play!
ReplyDeletePigx
Or, now you mention it Pig, Seamus Heaney. Oh my god - I have just realised that this is not reality - instead I am part of some enormous Truman-show like experiment, using the residents of K&C as labrats to see how human beings react to being given too much access to 4x4's, designer labels and Mini Boden.
ReplyDeleteWe're doomed, I tell you, doomed!
Oh well - must go and place some more on-line orders for the White Company...
Wow. You are efficient. You got dinner and a show all at once!
ReplyDeleteWe aim to please, RC...
ReplyDeletethat was hilarious. you must have the patience of a saint. new to your blog, and love it. i loved the boeing 747 involvement.
ReplyDeleteThanks Elsie, it's always good to have feedback like that!
ReplyDelete