Mealtimes at our house are messy. BB likes to toss food about like confetti, showering all who get in her way and twin boy’s eating style resembles a farmyard animal; and I am not talking about a chicken here.
Our dinner is punctuated with the same old sayings every day;
“Don’t eat with your mouth full.”
“Take the knife off your baby sister.”
“Do not spit your food.”
He who helped create them dreads it; sitting at the table with us is quite possibly his own personal hell. I don’t know what he dislikes the most, the lip smacking, the deafening chewing or the indescribable mess. Actually I think he may rank them all equally.
Today was a particularly messy meal, all finger food which was spread equally across the table, in tummies, on faces and launched at the rabid hound. He who helped create them coped remarkably well at hiding his terror as twin boy licked his lips and slurped his way through his meal of homemade wraps, salad, and beans. For pudding twin boy requested canned prunes with ice cream; not the best meal for someone who has bowel issues at the best of times but that’s tomorrows nightmare (and potentially tomorrows blog)
To be honest it pushed us all over the edge; watching a sticky, dripping prune laced in ice cream enter twin boys mouth was bad enough; hearing it move wetly round his gums was tortuous and then watching the pip re emerge and drop onto a tissue was simply the noose on the rope. Standing no more he who helped create them snapped and cried;
“Owen*, for goodness sake could you be any messier and stop the noise its horrible.”
At this point, twin girl, still immaculate with no food anyway but her stomach, looked pointedly at her father and said;
“You chose to be a daddy, and now this is being a daddy!”
Anyone got a comeback from that?
(*Owen is indeed my sons real name for those of you that don’t know or thought I really was too lazy to call him anything other than twin boy.)