Thursday, 11 November 2010
Bringing up boys: When you start to sound like your own parents...
Tonight was a classic. Tonight I offered my children Pasta, one of their favourites. With sausage meat balls and home made tomato and choirzio sauce, obvioulsy not one of their favourites...
The Boy: I am NOT going to eat it. I don't like it.
Me: Just sit down and let's get on with supper. You'll just have to have a little bit.
The Boy: No, I am NOT going to eat it, I will be sick
Me: Stop being so silly, you will not . Now SIT down please.
The Boy crosses his arms aggressively and looks belligerently at me from beneath his brows.
Me: Boy! SIT. DOWN...NOW.
The firmness with which I speak and the careful unnunciation of each and every word conveys the gathering menance. I will not be brooked. He sits down.
Me, brightly: That's better! Now eat up everyone.
Just as The Boy picks up his fork his younger brother pipes up.
Bog Boy: I love this Mummy, it's my favourite!
My heart sinks a bit, typical Bog Boy to open his mouth with that sort of thing! Turning to him: That's lovely Darling, now lets eat it all up.
Bog Boy gives his glowering brother a cherubic smile and I want to throttle him, now The Boy will create a stink. I glance up and across, he's toying with the pasta. With great show of effort and a whimper the one piece is placed in his mouth as if I were making him eat slugs. He grabs at his water and glugs down half of it. I purse my lips and peer over the top of my glasses.
Me: Stop making a fuss now and eat properly.
The Boy wailing innocently: But I AM!
Me: You ARE NOT. Now STOP this and get on with it.
With great show, and furious expression, he stamps down his fork on a poor unsuspecting sausage meatball, which unfortunately for him startled by the force at which it is being skewered makes its escape, along with the fork, across the table sending tomato sauce everywhere.
Me, rising out of my chair: WILL YOU BEHAVE! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE! You will STOP this RIGHT NOW!
There is a momentary silence then a snivelling starts to emminate from the boy across the table.
Me, quietly: Stop it. Here's your fork and just get on with it now.
The fork is raised valiantly to my son's mouth. I am obviously asking him to eat poison. The sausage meat ball is nibbled.With narrowed eyes I glare at him
Me hissing: Properly!
The meat ball once again resumes its painful journey to my son's mouth to be devoured whole, only for there to be a sudden retching sound as it re-emerges almost immediately falling to the plate.
The Boy: See! It is making me sick. You are SO mean.
Me, verging on losing it: You didn't even try to eat it. You will eat all of that up now!
The Boy, shocked: You want me to eat my sick!
me: You were not sick you just spat that out!
The Boy wailing: I was sick! You are making me eat my sick!
Me in full tirade: Don't be ridiculous. I am doing no such thing. How dare you talk to me like that. After all the time and effort I went ot to make this lovely meal for you this is how you show your gratitude! You should be so lucky that someone cares for you this much. Eat all your food up now. Think of all those starving millions...
Bog Boy, with genuine concern: Starring Villians??? Whose Villians, is he on TV???