Dinner with Sam…
Me: Sam, it’s dinner time! Are you hungry, precious?
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Okay honey, don’t eat the high chair. That’s not good for you. Here, try some cereal instead. Mmmmmm, cereal.
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Oh, very good. You’re a good eater, Sam. But Mommy needs the spoon back now.
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum! Nyum nyum nyum!
Me: No sweetie, please don’t shove the spoon up your nose. Mommy needs that back to feed you. Give me the spoon… Sam, give me the spoon… Of fer crying out loud, Sam. Give me the spoon!
Sam: Waaaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaah!
Me: No, don’t cry! Don’t cry! Look, here’s the airplane! Here comes the airplane! Zoooooooooooooom!
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Very good Sam. Now let’s do a choo choo train. Choo choo, choo choo, choo choo, choo choo, WOO WOOOO!
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Good girl! Can Mommy have her fingers back now? Uh, I need those fingers. Thank you. Okay Sam, let’s try another one. Here comes the astronaut. Here he comes in his space suit! He says, ‘Open the pod bay doors, Hal.’
Sam stares at me blankly.
Me: Okay, that’s from the movie ‘2001.’ Maybe you’ll get that when you’re older. Um, let’s do the airplane again. Here comes the airplane! Zooooooom! Zooooooooom! Zoooooo- Augh! My fingers! Sam, give me back my fingers!
Sam: Nyum! Nyum nyum nyum! Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Aaaaaaa! Call 911! She bit off my fingers! Call 911! Aaaaaaugh!! AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!
And that’s dinner with Sam. An hour after all this, she’ll spit everything back up, including my fingers, which is why I can still count to ten. Feeding Cassie has been an entirely different matter…
Cassie: Mommy, I don’t like chicken.
Me: Oh? Well you don’t have to eat it…
Cassie: Okay!
Me: But you’re not getting a treat if you don’t eat your dinner.
Cassie (pokes at her plate): Mommy, I don’t like broccoli.
Me: That’s fine. But you’re still not getting any treats if you don’t eat what’s on your plate.
Cassie (does a little more poking): I don’t like rice either.
Me: Once again, you will not get anything else to eat tonight if you don’t eat your dinner. Do you understand?
Cassie: Yes ma’am. Mommy?
Me: Yes, Cassandra?
Cassie: I’m done. May I be excused?
Me: Yes, you may. But you’re not getting anything else to eat tonight. Remember that.
Cassie runs off to play in the living room. During the course of dinner, she keeps running up to either me or Michael, asking for a movie, telling fart jokes, and in general acting like a little hooligan. After we’re done eating, I clear the dishes off the table. Cassie’s plate is still untouched. It’s the exact same food I tried feeding her last night, which she refused to eat then too, so I just dump it in the trash.
Me: Okay Cassie, movie time is over. It’s time to go upstairs for your bath.
Cassie: Mommy, I’m hungry. May I have something to eat?
Me: Uh, no. Remember what I told you?
Cassie looks at me blankly.
Me: You didn’t eat your dinner, so you’re not getting anything else to eat.
Cassie: But I’m hungry!
Me: Too bad. It’s bath time. Get upstairs.
The crocodile tears begin to flow from Cassie’s baby blues. She wails, screams, gnashes her teeth and throws herself on the ground. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing.
Cassie: Waaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAAAAH!
Me: I’m turning out the light and going upstairs now. See you in the tub.
Cassie: Waaaaah! Waaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
I turn out the light and head upstairs, as promised. Cassie, who hates to be left in the dark, scrambles up the stairs after me, throwing herself on the ground every third step to throw another tantrum. She keeps screaming at me, but I can no longer understand anything she says. I just keep humming and turning out the lights as I go. Eventually, Cassie makes it to the bathroom. She sobs all through getting undressed, and is still howling when she steps into the tub. When I turn on the water, she screams even louder. By now, I can no longer contain myself. I’m laughing out loud. This just pisses Cassie off even more. However, once the tub fills up, the crying stops (I knew it would). She starts splashing around, playing with her bath toys. We sing funny songs and laugh. Eventually, the bath is over, and Cassie makes it to bed with only one more minor tantrum, this one about how she hates to brush her teeth. Fortunately, Michael is home to handle that, because I think if I laugh at that kid too much more, I’m going to burst my sides.
And that’s dinner at the Madden household.
