I learned last week, that as a father, I was sorely lacking. My wife informed me that every Friday, my daughter has a picnic at preschool and is supposed to have a sandwich for lunch. Apparently, she’d been severely stigmatized by having to make do with cans of ravioli.
Her eyes lit up when I asked her if she’d like a bologna sandwich. “Yes!” was accompanied by a little happy dance. For those of you that have been following our antics, you will know that a plain sandwich would never do for my daughter. So, we went over the list of additives and she gave me her order.
That evening, when I made the lunches, my daughter got a bologna sandwich with mustard and mayonnaise, just like mine. As we were leaving for school, I told her about her sandwich. (I have to admit, I was proud that I’d finally stepped up and met my parental responsibilities. In all honesty, I thought it was cool to make the same lunch for as I made for myself.) Each item in her lunch brought a happy nod. Fig newtons, crackers, peaches and a bologna sandwich with mustard and mayonnaise.
Both my wife and my daughter immediately pipped in, “No, not mustard!” The look of horror on both their faces was a shock. This was the little girl that dunked strawberries in mustard and came back for more! Besides, that's what she asked for.
I know for a fact that my wife is her mother because they both put their hands on their hips and, in unison explained that it was supposed to be ketchup and mayonnaise. Armed with a correctly made sandwich, my daughter went off to school much happier and ready to finally take her place among the sandwichers of the world.
Now that I finally knew how to feed my daughter, I was ready for the weekend lunch and knew that my inability to to properly make a sandwich wouldn't leave my children starved. My son, the picky eater, made due with a boring peanut butter sandwich. My daughter and I settled down to our gourmet sandwiches. (Granted, I'd ruined mine by selecting mustard instead of ketchup.) (You may be wondering where my wife was during this historic lunch setting. Being a blatant coward, she tends to keep a safe distance when my daughter and I explore the more creative side of fine dinning.)
Now, there may be doubters that think mayonnaise and ketchup, or even mustard and strawberries do not make a gourmet. And you'd be correct, but they are encouraging signs and she is still pushing her frontiers. My daughter confirmed her gourmetness by peeling the bread off her sandwich and using the tortilla chips to scoop up the ketchup and mayonnaise. (I think she has a future being a judge on the Iron Chef. No matter what they have to use, she'll be more than happy to try it. Only problem is, she'll give everyone high scores.)
During one of our normal night's out (My wife was working late and so I “cooked” by taking them out.) I was tired and both of the little monsters behaved through the whole dinner. There wasn't any blood and, for the most part, neither one terrorized the other. It was when my son asked, “Daddy, can we have dessert?” that I realized it was all a shameless plot and my hopes that they'd turned into civilized beings evaporated.
“What do you want?”
“Cheesecake!”
Now, cheesecake is not technically a dessert, it's more a state of being, so I couldn't say no. We ordered two slices and each promised I could have a taste of theirs. When the waitress came back with one slice, I knew my evening of peace was gone. The other piece had been dropped and this was the last piece of cheesecake.
Quick thinking and diplomatic skills were called for as both kids realized they were going to have to share! An order of ice cream was placed and I guarded the cheesecake while the waitress raced away.
(I've been told that sometimes the blog rambles, is disjointed or plain doesn't make any sense until the end. I have no problem blaming that on the little studied Parental Senility. I think this condition deserves a government grant and a team of scientist. Luckily, finding participants will be easy. Just look for a car with at least one child seat. If you're concerned that, once again, I've gone off on another train of thought, don't worry. I'm about to pull it back... I think.)
Both settled into the ice cream and cheesecake, and I even got a bite or two. My daughter's true gourmetness was confirmed after she finished her vanilla ice cream. Without any self-consciousness, she took a bite of garlic bread. While her eyes did water a little, it was, apparently, the perfect compliment to ice cream and cheesecake.
Showing posts with label Eating out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eating out. Show all posts
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Rules
“No, daddy. You can’t jump my letter L because you don’t have the blue crayon. Whoever has the blue crayon is king. I told you that.”
Believe it or not, this made sense to me. We were at TGI Fridays for dinner because neither my wife nor I wanted to cook I’d just finished working 35 hours over the weekend (Yes, that will definitely make it in here, once I recover from the gray hair and stop whimpering every time I think about it.) So here’s the picture, if you recognize yourself as one of the players, you have my sympathy and complete understanding.
Two forty-year olds, (yes, my wife is 40, not 39, not 39 twice, but a solid four zero. If you see her on the street, feel free to say how’s 40? She likes the attention.) a six-year old boy and a three-year old girl. I think it was the middle of the week, but honestly it’s all a blur now. Per the new phrase in our house, my wife and I were dragging. Our two kids on the other hand had plenty of energy.
So, we tag teamed. That’s how I got to be playing checkers with the world’s most honest player. I say that because he will not break any rules in a game, nor is anyone else allowed to break them either. The problem is, when we play, he makes up the rules as he goes and by some mysterious quirk of fate, the rules he makes up always fall in his favor.
Last summer, we played football in the park next to us. There was a large depression in the ground. Since water gathers there, this is the most obvious place for him to constantly fall down. That lead to the rule that if I threw the ball and he caught it, but fell into the depression, he got a point. If he missed, but the ball landed there, I got a point. Seeing as he was only a little over three and a half feet high, it was easy to score points. So, my little congressman added a rider and apparently I didn’t get a vote. If the football went into the depression, but bounced out three times in a row, I lost all but two points.
Since the depression wasn’t a full-blown sinkhole yet, (Yes, I know this was the first thing the mothers and grandmothers thought. The fathers and grandfathers, more than likely thought, hey there’s still water in it, so it can’t be that dangerous yet.) throwing the ball just right so it wouldn’t bounce out added a new level to the game. It also gave me the chance to lose all my points when he got frustrated. There were other rules that he added opportunistically. I wasn’t allowed to go under the playground equipment to catch him (This rule I was in favor of. A five year-old can fit in some pretty tight places a 40 plus (unlike my wife, I’m keeping my real age a secret) father with bad knees has no business going.). The seesaw was safe and I had to go to the swings if he got there.
Which brings us back to tag teaming at TGI Fridays. The kid’s placemat at restaurants is usually good for ten minutes of distraction. There’s the coloring and games. He also picks out what he wants to eat and circles it so when they come to take the order he can recite what he’s picked. The waitress came and I was still trying to figure out which way to turn the menu so it was right side up. (Remember, 35 hours working over the weekend, and it wasn’t fun work)
My wife ordered and gave the order for our daughter. There was a pause and I said, “Do you want mac and cheese, bud?” That’s a pretty safe order for him and I couldn’t focus enough to see what he’d circled.
“Daddy, I already ordered.”
You know, hearing your we’ve-gone-over-this-one-thousand-times-but-I’ll-go-over-it-one-more-time, forced patience tone of voice coming from a six year-old is an eye-opener. I looked at the waitress and she nodded that he had. It was going to be a long dinner.
Now, even though my wife and I work in the same room now, we really don’t get a chance to talk that much. So, we were trying to catch up on each other’s weeks, and still pay attention to the two little monsters. Once the coloring was done, my son wanted to play another game.
There was a word search shaped, I think, like a pirate ship. Now, if you are thinking, the word search is a great idea, it would keep him occupied and teach him how to spell, you are wrong. Remember, he loves to play games, and that means taking turns. So, after he found a word, then I have to find one. And the whole not focusing thing was going to make that hard. So, I had a brainstorm. He colored in the vowels, and I colored in the consonants. If one of us colored too far, we had to recite the alphabet. (I admit I was trying, but had to recite it a few more times than he did.)
At this point, he had the orange crayon and I had the blue crayon. After a few minutes, when almost all the vowels were colored in, he said it was time to switch crayons. I didn’t catch on to the fact that this also included he was now coloring in the consonants and I was on the vowels. I was informed of this rule change and had to recite the alphabet once again.
When there weren’t any more vowels, he announced we were going to play checkers. Believe it or not, you can actually play checkers with just about anything, including a word search that is shaped like a pirate ship. Apparently there are hidden powers associated with blue. He could jump me twice, his letter Ls couldn’t be jumped and he could jump across the blank spaces to other parts of the ship. Being orange, I was limited to only jumping once, not allowed to jump the letter L and definitely no double jumps. Because, “Blue is king and you’re not blue, daddy.”
After playing word search checkers with a six-year that constantly changes and adds rules, I’m starting to understand the stock market a lot more.
Believe it or not, this made sense to me. We were at TGI Fridays for dinner because neither my wife nor I wanted to cook I’d just finished working 35 hours over the weekend (Yes, that will definitely make it in here, once I recover from the gray hair and stop whimpering every time I think about it.) So here’s the picture, if you recognize yourself as one of the players, you have my sympathy and complete understanding.
Two forty-year olds, (yes, my wife is 40, not 39, not 39 twice, but a solid four zero. If you see her on the street, feel free to say how’s 40? She likes the attention.) a six-year old boy and a three-year old girl. I think it was the middle of the week, but honestly it’s all a blur now. Per the new phrase in our house, my wife and I were dragging. Our two kids on the other hand had plenty of energy.
So, we tag teamed. That’s how I got to be playing checkers with the world’s most honest player. I say that because he will not break any rules in a game, nor is anyone else allowed to break them either. The problem is, when we play, he makes up the rules as he goes and by some mysterious quirk of fate, the rules he makes up always fall in his favor.
Last summer, we played football in the park next to us. There was a large depression in the ground. Since water gathers there, this is the most obvious place for him to constantly fall down. That lead to the rule that if I threw the ball and he caught it, but fell into the depression, he got a point. If he missed, but the ball landed there, I got a point. Seeing as he was only a little over three and a half feet high, it was easy to score points. So, my little congressman added a rider and apparently I didn’t get a vote. If the football went into the depression, but bounced out three times in a row, I lost all but two points.
Since the depression wasn’t a full-blown sinkhole yet, (Yes, I know this was the first thing the mothers and grandmothers thought. The fathers and grandfathers, more than likely thought, hey there’s still water in it, so it can’t be that dangerous yet.) throwing the ball just right so it wouldn’t bounce out added a new level to the game. It also gave me the chance to lose all my points when he got frustrated. There were other rules that he added opportunistically. I wasn’t allowed to go under the playground equipment to catch him (This rule I was in favor of. A five year-old can fit in some pretty tight places a 40 plus (unlike my wife, I’m keeping my real age a secret) father with bad knees has no business going.). The seesaw was safe and I had to go to the swings if he got there.
Which brings us back to tag teaming at TGI Fridays. The kid’s placemat at restaurants is usually good for ten minutes of distraction. There’s the coloring and games. He also picks out what he wants to eat and circles it so when they come to take the order he can recite what he’s picked. The waitress came and I was still trying to figure out which way to turn the menu so it was right side up. (Remember, 35 hours working over the weekend, and it wasn’t fun work)
My wife ordered and gave the order for our daughter. There was a pause and I said, “Do you want mac and cheese, bud?” That’s a pretty safe order for him and I couldn’t focus enough to see what he’d circled.
“Daddy, I already ordered.”
You know, hearing your we’ve-gone-over-this-one-thousand-times-but-I’ll-go-over-it-one-more-time, forced patience tone of voice coming from a six year-old is an eye-opener. I looked at the waitress and she nodded that he had. It was going to be a long dinner.
Now, even though my wife and I work in the same room now, we really don’t get a chance to talk that much. So, we were trying to catch up on each other’s weeks, and still pay attention to the two little monsters. Once the coloring was done, my son wanted to play another game.
There was a word search shaped, I think, like a pirate ship. Now, if you are thinking, the word search is a great idea, it would keep him occupied and teach him how to spell, you are wrong. Remember, he loves to play games, and that means taking turns. So, after he found a word, then I have to find one. And the whole not focusing thing was going to make that hard. So, I had a brainstorm. He colored in the vowels, and I colored in the consonants. If one of us colored too far, we had to recite the alphabet. (I admit I was trying, but had to recite it a few more times than he did.)
At this point, he had the orange crayon and I had the blue crayon. After a few minutes, when almost all the vowels were colored in, he said it was time to switch crayons. I didn’t catch on to the fact that this also included he was now coloring in the consonants and I was on the vowels. I was informed of this rule change and had to recite the alphabet once again.
When there weren’t any more vowels, he announced we were going to play checkers. Believe it or not, you can actually play checkers with just about anything, including a word search that is shaped like a pirate ship. Apparently there are hidden powers associated with blue. He could jump me twice, his letter Ls couldn’t be jumped and he could jump across the blank spaces to other parts of the ship. Being orange, I was limited to only jumping once, not allowed to jump the letter L and definitely no double jumps. Because, “Blue is king and you’re not blue, daddy.”
After playing word search checkers with a six-year that constantly changes and adds rules, I’m starting to understand the stock market a lot more.
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