Some families sit down together every night and eat the same meal. Everyone’s plates look more or less the same. I’m aware of this. From night to night, I experience various levels of guilt caused by the fact that we are not one of those families.
This evening, for example, Savannah requested her favorite meal, corn dogs and fruit, which she ate at 5:45 while the rest of us milled around the kitchen. At 6:00, John joined her with re-heated roast beef and roasted potatoes (delivered by the MIL this past weekend; I can take no credit). Around the same time, Abby was dining on Quaker oatmeal and cinnamon toast — and this is where I feel we crossed a line — up in her bedroom, on her favorite blue tray, while watching a movie. Around 7:00, Claire finally wrapped up her evening tantrum and sat down to eat a hot dog with cheese and crackers. Finally, at 7:30, I heated up my own meal, two chilitos from Skyline and a Diet Mt. Dew (the nutritional anti-Christ), while checking emails.
You think THAT’S bad? Just wait ’till dessert.