Tonight I was shooing my last grandchild out the door and a thought flit through my mind about how different dinners are now then they were when my children were young. Between the busy workweek and long commutes, most of my grandchildren do not even get home until 6:45. Add in the evening unpacking, the settling in, and the cooking and I would be surprised if they ate before 7:30. What a whirlwind! No wonder my daughters opt for fast food over home cooked meals.
Ahh the yester- years. It is true, we were a traditional sit down around the kitchen table family. My husband at one end, me at the other, and our four children seated in the same place every night, except Fridays – our family night. Over our heads hung a plaque featuring a stern spoon wielding mother that read “Don’t expect a fat meal from a lean cook”. And that was no joke in my house. We scraped by with the bare minimum, my $80.00 a week grocery budget fed all six of us the whole week. Thinking about that time, it dawned on me, life in retrospect seems so much simpler, less chaotic. And there is no shortage of people like me just waiting to rub everyone else’s nose in the rose garden.
But then I remembered the truth:
My oldest son’s best friend who always had to squeeze in at the table in my spot since we only had six chairs so I ate standing up every time his mom worked late.
Five kernals of corn shoved so high up a small left nostril we had to go to the emergency room for the sheer entertainment value it brought the other three kids.
Clearing homework and scrubbing pencil off the table so we had somewhere to eat.
Dinner ready at 6:30 but dad running late because of traffic so now it’s cold, and the gravy is even worse it is bordering on gelatinous.
The dog somehow finding her way into my crockpot… Didn’t I put FOOD in there this morning?
Oh my god, the youngest boy just stabbed the oldest girl in the hand with his fork. For fun.
The middle girl is refusing to eat tacos so even though everyone else has left the table and we are approaching bedtime I still cannot clear the table at risk of ruining my “eat your peas or else” credibility.
The oldest ate spaghetti and had the stomach flu, and now I am up all night pulling half digested strands from her hair and out of her nose.
Ahhh, the memories. Walking down memory lane tonight has inspired me to pack sack dinners for the drive home. Those poor grandkids, growing up in my house it’s no wonder their moms don’t cook! In fact, it is a miracle they are not suffering post traumatic stress when they walk in the kitchen. If you have a favorite my Family Dinner Story, I’d love to hear it!
GrandmaCents 