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Call me Victorian but, while I adore my child and find her fascinating and delightful much of the time, I have no desire to eat dinner with her. And nor does her doting father. Call us intolerant, selfish, old-fashioned, but we just find dinner with tots, well, unappetizing.
But it's more than that. Our parents-only nighttime noshing started way back, long before Crabtot could sit up and eat solids. Back when she was a colicky infant, my husband suggested we attempt to maintain some grownups' time in our newly topsy-turvy world by eating dinner by ourselves. At a laid table. With wine glasses. Like grownups. This took some doing. Sometimes we ate very late. But once we made the decision we no longer had to wrestle with passing a fussy baby back and forth between us while we tried to shovel food down our respective gullets.
Part of the reason this ritual has made sense for us has to do with Crabhubby's schedule. He isn't home in time for Crabtot's 6:30 dinner. And actually it is he who makes dinner at least half of the week, so by the time it's on the table Crabtot is in bed. But even if we could eat as a family every night...the truth is we wouldn't want to. Not yet, at least. I know this because we eat dinner together on weekends sometimes, and when I have to get up from the table for the seventh time—in search of a moist cloth or to hurriedly rinse another fistful of cherry tomatoes—I look forward to the weekdays ahead, when I can park my butt in a chair for the duration of dinner, eat some seriously spicy food if I wish, and not have to reprimand anyone about using fingers as forks.
Yeah yeah, our system has its drawbacks. How is Crabtot ever to learn proper table manners and evolve her palate if she doesn't eat with her elders? (And how are we, her elders, going to brush up our slack table manners if not by setting an example?) Plus, yes, there's the hassle of making a separate supper for the little one. It's a drag.
But there's still something to be said for that table set for two. The unfiltered, uninterrupted, civilized, grownup conversation. A tiny bit of sanity in an otherwise nutty day. I'm not saying it's always scintillating convo at our house or that there's anything romantic about these dinners, but there's something swell about eating with someone who doesn't fire off skeptical questions about the "little black dots" on the lambchops. Like all good things, our grownups' dinner won't last, and that's as it should be. But for now, we're sticking with dinner for two, and I say "chin-chin."
What about you, parents of small fry? Do you eat with your kids? If so, when did you start?
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