Bon Appetit!
It's 6 p.m. and I have dinner ready. Daily, I am always surprised when this happens; it seems miraculous that I even remember to make dinner, let alone a tasty one. The day flies by so fast, if I don't think of dinner by noon, it might not happen. In getting to the table, there is a flurry of plates and forks, milk and cups, napkins and children getting to the table. There is a scramble for the chairs. Who is sitting where? I want to sit next to you. Don't sit next to me! Don't put those two kids together, Mom, they almost killed each other today. Where is the 12 year-old? Someone put the baby in her chair; someone find the baby! It's a nightly game of musical chairs, except there is a chair for everyone.
The food is carried to the table: Don't trip over the dog. Don't put that hot dish near the little ones. Everyone get to the table and sit down! Someone get the broccoli. Everyone, quiet, please! Jay walks in the door after a long day at the office to a chorus of "HI DAD! DADDY'S HOME!" and the table erupts into laughter and talking and everyone asking him how his day was. We are all at the table, at the same time (!), all 9 of us. It's quiet for a few seconds while someone prays, then there is a free-for-all as the food is dished up and passed around.
I am finally able to sit down for a few minutes and look around the table. The 15 year-old's plate is piled so high with food, I can't see his plate, so I am assuming he has one. The baby is standing in her chair to eat; for some reason she can't seem to sit during a meal. Broccoli flies across the table. The 7 year-old is chattering away about how much she loves to talk, and about her hair, her dolls, and how she hates sleeping in late, and asks for thirds on dinner. How does she talk so much and still eat? The 12 year-old and the 9 year-old are arguing and making faces at each other. Again. I need to remember to not let them sit near each other.
"How was your day?" I ask Jay, shouting so he can hear me. I think he is saying it was OK. The baby is now screaming and laughing and dropping her food to the dog. Someone is trying to get the baby to sit down; she sits, then pops back up with a squeal. Now that the 15 year-old has emptied his plate, he and the 17 year-old engage in a lively discussion about music and what the difference is between being a great guitar player and being the best guitar player. The 7 year-old shows daddy his latest drawing. More broccoli flies through the air. I think the 4 year-old is doing it, but he's too quick for me to catch him. Honestly, how does he maintain his chubbiness if all he does with his food is play with it? "How was your day, honey?" Jay asks me. Well, I'm not sure; I can't recall any disasters, so it must have been OK.
One by one, the children finish and leave the table. The baby has gotten out of her chair and is in her daddy's lap eating his food. The 4 and 9 year-olds are dawdling over their food. Finally, everyone is done, the children are cleaning up the kitchen, or getting the younger ones ready for bed, or catching up on homework. The clamor has not really died down, but has dispersed throughout the house. In the quiet of the dining room, as I linger at the table, I remember long ago longing for a dining room table filled with children. When we were first married, as Jay and I shared dinner between just the two of us, I could just picture them: surrounding the table, laughing, praying, eating, arguing. And it happened! Slowly but surely, the Lord filled my table with these precious, eternal beings. He chose to bless me with a bounty of children, when He could have blessed someone else. Someone that would surely be a better mother than I am. I don't understand His gift, but I cherish it, and I cherish these dinners. And now my evening meals not only fill my stomach, but fill my heart and my mind, and my soul.
The food is carried to the table: Don't trip over the dog. Don't put that hot dish near the little ones. Everyone get to the table and sit down! Someone get the broccoli. Everyone, quiet, please! Jay walks in the door after a long day at the office to a chorus of "HI DAD! DADDY'S HOME!" and the table erupts into laughter and talking and everyone asking him how his day was. We are all at the table, at the same time (!), all 9 of us. It's quiet for a few seconds while someone prays, then there is a free-for-all as the food is dished up and passed around.
I am finally able to sit down for a few minutes and look around the table. The 15 year-old's plate is piled so high with food, I can't see his plate, so I am assuming he has one. The baby is standing in her chair to eat; for some reason she can't seem to sit during a meal. Broccoli flies across the table. The 7 year-old is chattering away about how much she loves to talk, and about her hair, her dolls, and how she hates sleeping in late, and asks for thirds on dinner. How does she talk so much and still eat? The 12 year-old and the 9 year-old are arguing and making faces at each other. Again. I need to remember to not let them sit near each other.
"How was your day?" I ask Jay, shouting so he can hear me. I think he is saying it was OK. The baby is now screaming and laughing and dropping her food to the dog. Someone is trying to get the baby to sit down; she sits, then pops back up with a squeal. Now that the 15 year-old has emptied his plate, he and the 17 year-old engage in a lively discussion about music and what the difference is between being a great guitar player and being the best guitar player. The 7 year-old shows daddy his latest drawing. More broccoli flies through the air. I think the 4 year-old is doing it, but he's too quick for me to catch him. Honestly, how does he maintain his chubbiness if all he does with his food is play with it? "How was your day, honey?" Jay asks me. Well, I'm not sure; I can't recall any disasters, so it must have been OK.
One by one, the children finish and leave the table. The baby has gotten out of her chair and is in her daddy's lap eating his food. The 4 and 9 year-olds are dawdling over their food. Finally, everyone is done, the children are cleaning up the kitchen, or getting the younger ones ready for bed, or catching up on homework. The clamor has not really died down, but has dispersed throughout the house. In the quiet of the dining room, as I linger at the table, I remember long ago longing for a dining room table filled with children. When we were first married, as Jay and I shared dinner between just the two of us, I could just picture them: surrounding the table, laughing, praying, eating, arguing. And it happened! Slowly but surely, the Lord filled my table with these precious, eternal beings. He chose to bless me with a bounty of children, when He could have blessed someone else. Someone that would surely be a better mother than I am. I don't understand His gift, but I cherish it, and I cherish these dinners. And now my evening meals not only fill my stomach, but fill my heart and my mind, and my soul.
Comments
Post a Comment