When I was pregnant with my first child, I used to fantasize about family dinners. You know, those dinners like The Cosby Show where everyone goes around the table and says what the highs and lows of their days were. However, what The Cosby Show didn’t show was what those dinners were like when their kids were toddlers. I’m guessing that Clare had a flask in her lawyer briefcase that she would steal sips from, and Cliff would say there was a baby being born and secretly run off to the bar.
Dinner is officially my least favorite part of the day. I think I would suffer through Barbie and Ken getting married for the twelfth time this week than having to sit through a dinner where I tell my daughter to stop kicking the seat and my son to not spit food across the table again. Yes, I know they are only 4 and 22 months and I need to go through these times to teach them proper manners and such. But let me tell you, if I were rich, I would hire a nanny for 1 hour a day. All should she/he would have to do is sit at the dinner table with them. I would use that hour to finally put on deodorant, brush my hair and heck, maybe even solve the problems of world peace – a mom can get an insane amount of crap done in just one hour.
But tonight, I’ll try again. And maybe I can’t be Clare Huxtable, but heck, I figure if I get fed up enough, I’ll just start kicking their chairs and spitting food across the room back at them. If you can’t beat them, join them, right?