Three Tiny Tyrants
Archives
January 2019
June 2018
May 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
January 2019
June 2018
May 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
6/11/2018 1 Comment Crusts for dinnerAfter a long day out, the last thing I look forward to is the chaos of scrapping together a quick dinner that all will eat. Heat, exhaustion, an overabundance of sugar and under-abundance of anything healthful results in a rare combination in the trio. They waffle from super happy and excited retelling the adventures of our day to hysterical, nonsensical maniacs within seconds. I choose my words carefully as we unload the car, yet make the fatal mistake of asking the trio what they want for supper. Obviously, I receive three separate answers, and with the three on edge, I make the undesirable choice of making three different meals.
I begin by reheating chicken nuggets for Tiny as he runs circles around the house, screaming at the top of his lungs. As I set his meal in front of him, he happily exclaims that he is SO hungry that he would eat ANYTHING. I know this not to be true and, evidenced by his actions moments later when I set Little's toasted cheese sandwich on the table, he is all talk. Tiny has an aversion to cheese that I haven't seen since my own vomit inducing aversion to ketchup as a child (the smell of the stuff just sent me over the edge). The moment the toasted cheese sandwich is placed on the table, Tiny screams and runs from the table in horror. "There's CHEESE on the table!" he complains loudly to me. "I HATE cheese!" and out pour the tears as he tears around the house once more, chicken nugget grasped within his claw, crumbs flying in all directions. Little, on the hand, claps his hands in glee at the sight of the cheesy sandwich. A momentary joy. This glee is immediately followed by loud whining as he begins tearing his sandwich apart, tearfully telling me that I forgot to remove the crusts. Side note: I didn't forget. I was hoping he wouldn't notice them underneath the melted cheese. How wrong I was. As Little rips his sandwich into an undistinguishable pile of soft bread and cheese, he hands me the crusts saying, "You can eat the crusts for your dinner." Thanks kid. At this point, Big wonders aloud where his supper is, as though he is the forgotten child. "What am I going to eat??" he whines for the thousandth time. I plop his bowl of yogurt in front of him and then very clearly ask him if he wants the syrup mixed or not mixed. He opts for mixed. I wisely repeat the answer for verification and receive the go ahead to mix. Big takes one bite and then dissolves into great, big, loud wails. He DID NOT want it mixed. He wants it unmixed, immediately. My eye twitches as I reach for the syrup and pour a little extra on top. So much for coming down from his sugar high. Now, I'm just giving him sugar dinner on top of his sugar lunch. Big calms down and begins eating. Little takes tiny bird bites out of his mountain of torn bread/cheese. Tiny, still wandering around, at least continues taking bites out of his chicken nugget. I take a deep breath and enjoy the three seconds of serenity as I prepare myself a quick meal. However, eating it is another story. In prison life, for some reason, sitting down for a meal means that everyone under the age of 6 also has to poop. Little jumps up from the table and runs to the bathroom. Before I can take another bite, he is requesting my assistance in there. As he finishes up, Big decides he needs to be carried into the bathroom as well. And I need to stay there. To keep him company. As I stand awkwardly in the bathroom and keep Big company, I hear loud banging and screams coming from the kitchen. Tiny and Little are playing their own version of Ninja Warrior as they hop around the room on the chairs, counters, tables, Little chasing Tiny with his cheese. Tiny screams in horror and scrabbles to escape. Little may be the smallest of the bunch, but as he realizes his true power lay in Tiny's fear of the cheese, a maniacal light shines in his eyes and he gleefully uses this newfound power to chase his overlord. I step in just before Tiny throws a giant, hard dinosaur at Little's head and quietly - or not so quietly - tell him to get back to the table with his food. Big is calling me again. I blow a kiss to my untouched, now cold dinner sitting on the table and think that perhaps the crusts would have been a more appropriate meal for this particular evening.
1 Comment
|
AuthorAnna Christine is a working mother of three boys. She is a teacher, writer, learner, and a fierce advocate for inclusion. Writing is her catharsis for the tough days of parenting. Her writing has appeared on ScaryMommy: Archives
January 2019
Categories |