Dinner Dynamics
Tonight at dinnertime, Oliver was threatening to explode.
It was a night of leftovers so everyone was doing their own thing. I threw a pizza together for Oliver and had it baking in the oven. 15 minutes is a long time to wait for pizza. Ollie is not a patient man: as soon as someone is behind the counter and dinner smells start entering his nostrils, he's climbing the high chair and throwing caution to the wind. Grandma and Grandpa were trying to interest him in other things but it wasn't easy. He would grunt to get on the piano bench and sit there for a spell practicing his scales (read: pounding with the side of his fist). Then he would take out some puzzles and cry over where the missing pieces had gone off to. After that he'd pull on Grandpa to get up out of his chair but get angry when Grandpa failed to understand that he had to chase him around the living room with the blanket. A little pole dancing with the floor lamp until Grandma says to cut it out, then a walk over to the kitchen and a big HUFF because dinner isn't ready yet. Probably a little slamming of the cupboard doors, stomping on the pizza crust box that had somehow made it to the floor and pushing around the baker's rack would get things moving. Lifting him up to show him the pizza in the oven and saying that he can eat it when the clock says "OOOOOHHH" didn't work for too long either because all he cared to do was push the buttons.
When dinner finally is ready, who can blame the poor kid for being pissed as all hell that he could see it but still had to wait to eat it despite blowing across the room to make it cool down?
(Nothing beat when I finally gave him his full plate and he looked at me and giggled excitedly. I mean, seriously. What cook wouldn't melt at that?)
However, all of this plus me not letting him suck on the hot pad led up to an explosion that involved throwing his water cup, milk cup, plate full of pizza and mango and his fork on the floor while screaming bloody murder.
So I immediately - and calmly - got up. Picked everything off the floor while Oliver was saying, "Oh no oh no oh no oh no..." and put it on the counter next to the sink. He realized that this meant mealtime was over, and started freaking OUT. I told him, patiently and calmly, that I was sorry he was upset and when he calmed down, we could talk about what he did. Then I went back to my chair (next to him) and started eating again. Less than two minutes later, crocodile tears dripping off his chin, he turned to me. I said, "I'm sorry that you're upset, but we don't throw our food." Whimper. "Do you understand?" Whimper. "Are you ready to finish your dinner now?" Giggle.
I know there are some parents who would've just taken away the food, put him down and called quits to mealtime. I think that's a little too unnecessary (although I do think it very badass).
I was rewarded for my actions by watching him eat the rest of his meal and more. He was one hungry dude.
He nodded vigorously when I asked if he wanted to share my yogurt. So I gave him the grown-up spoon, and he spooned some into his mouth and then some into mine. Chuckling like it was the best thing he's ever done, we went back and forth: "your turn!" "Now it's Mama's turn!" I remember thinking, Sweet Lord, please let me remember this forever.
Mama success.
It was a night of leftovers so everyone was doing their own thing. I threw a pizza together for Oliver and had it baking in the oven. 15 minutes is a long time to wait for pizza. Ollie is not a patient man: as soon as someone is behind the counter and dinner smells start entering his nostrils, he's climbing the high chair and throwing caution to the wind. Grandma and Grandpa were trying to interest him in other things but it wasn't easy. He would grunt to get on the piano bench and sit there for a spell practicing his scales (read: pounding with the side of his fist). Then he would take out some puzzles and cry over where the missing pieces had gone off to. After that he'd pull on Grandpa to get up out of his chair but get angry when Grandpa failed to understand that he had to chase him around the living room with the blanket. A little pole dancing with the floor lamp until Grandma says to cut it out, then a walk over to the kitchen and a big HUFF because dinner isn't ready yet. Probably a little slamming of the cupboard doors, stomping on the pizza crust box that had somehow made it to the floor and pushing around the baker's rack would get things moving. Lifting him up to show him the pizza in the oven and saying that he can eat it when the clock says "OOOOOHHH" didn't work for too long either because all he cared to do was push the buttons.
When dinner finally is ready, who can blame the poor kid for being pissed as all hell that he could see it but still had to wait to eat it despite blowing across the room to make it cool down?
(Nothing beat when I finally gave him his full plate and he looked at me and giggled excitedly. I mean, seriously. What cook wouldn't melt at that?)
However, all of this plus me not letting him suck on the hot pad led up to an explosion that involved throwing his water cup, milk cup, plate full of pizza and mango and his fork on the floor while screaming bloody murder.
So I immediately - and calmly - got up. Picked everything off the floor while Oliver was saying, "Oh no oh no oh no oh no..." and put it on the counter next to the sink. He realized that this meant mealtime was over, and started freaking OUT. I told him, patiently and calmly, that I was sorry he was upset and when he calmed down, we could talk about what he did. Then I went back to my chair (next to him) and started eating again. Less than two minutes later, crocodile tears dripping off his chin, he turned to me. I said, "I'm sorry that you're upset, but we don't throw our food." Whimper. "Do you understand?" Whimper. "Are you ready to finish your dinner now?" Giggle.
I know there are some parents who would've just taken away the food, put him down and called quits to mealtime. I think that's a little too unnecessary (although I do think it very badass).
I was rewarded for my actions by watching him eat the rest of his meal and more. He was one hungry dude.
He nodded vigorously when I asked if he wanted to share my yogurt. So I gave him the grown-up spoon, and he spooned some into his mouth and then some into mine. Chuckling like it was the best thing he's ever done, we went back and forth: "your turn!" "Now it's Mama's turn!" I remember thinking, Sweet Lord, please let me remember this forever.
Mama success.
Comments