Meal Times

Our family is at risk of becoming as dysfunctional as the 80s sitcom Married With Children the way we are going. Ok, slight exaggeration but busy times can make us seem like passing ships in the night

So I decided the least we could do was sit down to a meal most evenings together in the good old-fashioned traditional way. It took a while to get used to: (“No, you are not allowed to leave the table and walk around with your food when you feel like it”) but eventually the kids got the hang of it.

Self-designed pizza is an all-time favourite.

Mealtimes at our table are not a lengthy affair. Unless we have pizza or hamburgers it has so far proved impossible to find a meal that goes down well unanimously. For example, our oldest is not fond of meat or potatoes but, oddly, loves cauliflower and broccoli and the twins vice-versa. Therefore, whoever is digging that night’s meal has gutsed it while the other is still sliding mashed spud around their plate moaning and casting evil looks my way. The ‘winner’ then demands their pudding before us adults have even got halfway through our own meal.

There’s something to be said for the “Kids are to be seen and not heard” adage here …

To try and lengthen out mealtimes we introduced talking about our days. This used to be carried out at bedtime but the kids soon realised they could drag it out enabling them to stay up longer. By the time we’d talked about the third day it was too late for any downtime.

So Cade is in charge of choosing the speaker via “Eeny meeny miny mo” and it will go something like this:

Jayla: “Well, my day I went to poo-poo,” (giggles). “And then did a poo-poo.” This being her new favourite word, you can get the drift.

Jai: “Well, my day I went to the supermarket with dad.”

“No, he’s lieing!” accuses Cade loudly. (Jai says the same thing every night.)

Next it lands on me and hubby, suppressing a smirk, rolls his eyes to the heavens. He’s heard my long, drawn-out stories one too many a time and doesn’t appreciate my attention to detail.

Ten minutes later I wrap it up and it’s their dad’s turn. He keeps it brief and then hands the floor over to Cade, who always struggles to remember his day.

“Well what did you write about at school today?” I prompted.

“I wrote ‘I went to Old McDonald’s’.”

“Did you teacher know what that was?”

“Um, I think. But she doesn’t have any kids and you only go there when you have kids.”

“Adults can go there too,” I explained. “But it’s actually just called McDonalds. Old MacDonald is the farmer in the song.

After some thought he looks visibly perturbed by his error. Then: “Oh bother!” he finally exclaimed.