Dinner when the inmates are let out of the asylum

Family dinner. Everyone always yammers on about the importance of eating as a family. We don't often manage to pull off the whole family dinner thing given our beyond crazy schedule, which will probably result in years of therapy for the kids (as if just being related to me wasn't enough to doom them already). So tonight had high expectations riding on it. A couple of them were even met: I didn't have to cook and we all got fed. Only one child dissolved into tears before the meal came and since R. is essentially a hormonal basketcase, tween girlie that she is, she's mastered the art of dissolving quietly so that she just sounds like the air being let out of a balloon. So no fellow diners were disturbed by the grand tragedy being enacted at our table. All three kiddos picked at and baited each other so that was really pleasant and made for an enjoyable experience. But these are usual things on the rare occasions when we eat together.

T. was the only one to request crayons and a coloring mat (because we only go to the finest dining establishments, which all distract their young clientele with the chance to make yet more grease-stained art to hang on the family fridge). The crayons he was given were pretty cool. They were called Crayangles. When he dumped them out, I looked at their shape and said, "Oh look. They're square. I mean triangular." W., who was sitting next to me muttered, "That explains why you got a C in geometry." Little rat. If you're keeping score, we now had one quietly weeping child, one insulting child, and one budding Picasso all at our table alone. Lucky us.

Somehow the conversation changed to Spanish, a subject which W. is thoroughly loving. R. pointed out, for the jillionth time, that she wants to take French instead of Spanish (anything to be different from her brother), at which point T. announced that he was going to be a Spanish type of guy. As we wondered what a Spanish type of guy was like, he looked over at us, twinkled (seriously, you should meet the kid--he's like a magical leprechaun), and said, "Senoritas" with an ear-splitting grin and an atrocious accent. Apparently "a Spanish type of guy" means he's going to be Rico Suave.

Since T. had lightened the mood and our family dinner was starting to look like family dinners should, it was, of course, destined that our appetizer would come after our meals, two side dishes would not appear until they'd been requested three times, the burger that could only be cooked to medium or longer (shoe-leather anyone?) was actually beyond well-done, and the lettuce on the burgers was brown at the edges and had wilted into elasticity (hey, could have been worse--it could have been slimy). Oh and we didn't get out of there before 9pm. Good thing it wasn't a school night! Is it any wonder we aren't too hung-up on family dinners?