My family and I had dinner tonight with another family who also has young children. It was really lovely, though I’ve decided that eating dinner with another family is a really excellent way to become VERY AWARE of how picky your own children are. They made a delicious chili. My children ate cornbread and 3.57 pieces of shredded cheese. They announced they were “very full” roughly 37 seconds after dinner began, though they rallied enough to be hungry enough to request second helpings of dessert when that time came. Funny how that works.
After having had dinner plans with other families in the past, I’ve come to believe that when you are trying to entertain with children involved, you WILL say at least five of the following things:
“Wait, is that yours crying or mine?”
“Was that glass breaking?”
“I SAID USE YOUR INDOOR VOICE!”
“I’m sorry, we can help pay to replace that”
“What do you say? What do you say? What do you say?” (repeated until child in questions remembers the words “please” and “thank you” exist)
“Are you guys okay up there?”
“Let me get an ice pack, you’ll be fine”
“Are those happy screams or ?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, my kids do that too”
I feel like I should make a family dinner BINGO card. The free space would be for running in the house or just random screaming. So much screaming (largely from my child whose natural enthusiasm level hits about 11 when there are other children around).
Even though trying to socialize with other families still involves a lot of conversations interrupted by child wrangling, it does feel nice to get invited somewhere on a Friday night. It seems so strange to remember that there was a time in my life where I did *something* every Friday night, often not even starting the evening until 9pm. Now it is 9:30pm and I’m already in my comfy clothes, as is totally appropriate for my emerging middle age lady status.
I feel compelled to share that it is currently snowing quite steadily right now. Why does Minnesota feel so compelled to test my love like this?