The smell of perfectly seasoned,
perfectly roasted chicken waft through the kitchen. I breathe deeply pulling it
from the oven and expertly navigate myself to the counter, avoiding the
scattered “Thomas and Friends” set seeking to take me down. I fill plastic Ikea
plates for each of my three adoring children with the perfect chicken and heaping
(toddler sized) mounds of, steamed to perfection, green vegetables!
Joining my perfect family at the
table, I put each plate in front of my children. My husband sits next to me. I
see from the corner of my eye that he has pulled out the newest addition of Popular Mechanics. I feel slightly
affronted, but he can sense the coming disaster; something I have not foreseen.
I look into my children’s faces and then I know. My fork slips in my sweaty
hand, instinctively I tense my shoulders preparing for what is to come.
Across
the table, my sassy 6-year-old, stubborn 3-year-old and mischievous 1-year-old
are preparing also; preparing for the battle of the dinner table!
Seconds later the 3-year-old hits
the floor; wailing and gnashing of teeth ensue as I hear the cries of “yucky
food” on his plate and he begs me not to make him eat it! “Well played, little one. Well played, I thought as I watched him
rolling on the floor. I moved my attentions to the sly baby; he thought he wouldwin
me over with that adorable manipulative smile of his, but I will not be
deceived.
“No, No,
stop right now!” I shout as he slowly lifts his plate towards the salivating
lips of our barreling, black Labrador. I elbow my husband, who responds without
looking up from the magazine.
“Stop
that J, put it down.” What? That's it?
I breathe out in frustration. How did this man
know what was happening without looking up? Did this happen often? Did I block
each nightly meal from my memory?
Ah,
another battle lost. The insatiable belly laugh, that could melt any mother’s
heart, came from that small, yet intelligent baby’s throat. It fills our
boisterous dining room as if to symbolize his victory. The dog was bent down
lapping up all the perfect, delicious food. I feel a wave of resolve rush over
me, I WILL NOT CLAIM DEFEAT I tell
myself.
I whip
my head towards my unfortunate daughter. Her brother’s may have escaped, but
this child, oh this one; she was not leaving the table without eating those
green vegetables! That was the important part, right? She glares back at me,
arms folded across her chest. I shrink slightly, wondering what could be
running through her Kindergarten brain.
“Look,
sweetie,” I say kindly, hoping the patient mother façade would encourage her to
do my will. “It’s a tree, isn’t that fun? It’s a tiny little tree!” She just
stares at me.
“It's broccoli,
mom.” Blast! She’s too smart for her own
good. I decide to take it a step further and not let on that she had me
cornered.
“Yes,
but don’t you know broccoli is a special tree for fairies? They allow us to eat
some every once and awhile. If we eat it we can become magic like the fairies!”
For a
moment she waivered, glancing back and forth between her food and myself. Then
the smug I know mom’s fibbing to get what
she wants smile spread across her face. I felt the heat rushing to my face,
it was going to blow right here and now, even my husband had looked up from his
magazine, waiting--wondering what I was going to do next. The 3 year old, 1
year old and even the dog looked at me with a mixture of fear and wonder in
their eyes.
“YOU
WILL EAT ONE BITE OF BROCCOLI RIGHT NOW!” She looked calmly into my fiery eyes
waiting for the other half of my rant, she'd heard it before. “After you do
that you can have a big chocolate chip cookie!”
There, I
showed her. I smiled, watching her lift the broccoli/fairy tree to her lips. Her
nose wrinkled as she took the smallest bite possible!
And in
that moment it was clear, I had become the foremost expert on child hood
nutrition. If I were to coin a phrase for the proper way to win the battle of
the dinner table it would be: “Nailed it!”
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