I Hear the Baby Birds

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Family Dinner Time

On Family Dinner Time, aka FDT.

Family Dinner Time at our house is a highly evolved ritual with many rules to follow. I herein present a sampling (by no means exhaustive) of the Crowe Rules:

Crowe Rule #68: FDT is FAMILY Dinner Time. We are ALL members of this family. Therefore we ALL sit at the table. At our own places. Not at the island or in front of the TV. We sit where we can FACE each other. And TALK (one at a time).

Crowe Rule #347: There shall be neither demonstration nor mention of digestive upset, including but not limited to throwing up, vomiting, barfing, yakking, tossing one's cookies, or other varieties as yet unmentioned.

Crowe Rule #651: There shall be no discussion of medical procedures or displays of personal anatomical knowledge or insight, such as "Look at this cool scab!" or "Wanna hear about my hernia operation?" We're eating here, people, we're eating.

Crowe Rule #252: There shall be no complaining about what mom has fixed, even if it is horrible and might make us die from even one bite. Instead, we shall all say, "Thank you, mother dear, for the sacrificial love and culinary artistry with which you prepared this lovely meal." Big gulps of your milk will help you choke it down.

And while I'm at it, I shall explain for the edification of any younger or future mothers who might read this, a few of my philosophies about training children to participate in family dinner time. These observations are based on my own experiences, of course, so your mileage may vary.

One belief I have grown into is that you, as a mom or dad, only have so much energy to fight so many battles. When your kids are very small (say, 2-3 years old), you must pick your battles very carefully. If little Johnny or wee Suzy is not listening when you say "No!" or won't obey when you say, "Come," that is a preliminary battle that deserves much more of your time and energy than the war over broccoli or the struggle to make them sit for more than 30 seconds in their own chair.

When my boys were strong-willed toddlers, we had friends with a little toddler girl who would sit at her place for dinner for a full 20 minutes. Her mom told me all about how it was "time for her to learn how to behave at the dinner table." I nodded mutely, making a mental note not to invite them over for dinner for the next 10 years. I knew that I, personally, did not have the energy at 6:00 p.m. each day to enforce dinner-time-sitting-still. I. Was. Done. For. The. Day. And besides, what energy I might be able to muster was vitally needed for the Bedtime Skirmish, a battle I fervently determined to win.

Which demonstrates my point - to me, bedtimes were a CRUCIAL thing. Dinnertime could wait. And you know? It turned out I was right. Not about bedtime being more important, necessarily - but about how it didn't do my kids any permanent damage that I waited until the oldest was about 6 before I started making them eat vegetables and stay in their seats. By that time, other habits were well established and I was not so tired all the time. So I had the energy (and the patience) to show them how civilized people behave at the dinner table.

My kids are living proof that a human being can survive from ages 1 to, oh, 6 or so, by counting ketchup as a vegetable. And today they all eat broccoli. And (mostly) follow the Crowe Rules.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Be quiet, everybody, be quiet...

When my daughter was two, a mama bird built a nest in the oakleaf hydrangea bush outside our breakfast room window. Daily we could hear the insistent "cheep, cheep, cheep" of those little birds begging their mama for tasty goody treats. "Lovely worms, oh yes, we loves them."

One night at Family Dinner Time (a ritualized event, held mostly daily, with its own set of rules upon which I will elaborate later) we were in full swing. Dad was explaining Dad stuff, Mom was hopping up and down getting food stuff, older boys were describing the latest cartoon episode, telemarketers were calling, doorbells were ringing. We're a pretty loud family. All of a sudden, in the middle of the chaos, my baby girl interrupts with her best commanding, do-what-I-say-and-no-one-gets-hurt voice:

"Beeee kwi-et, evwybody, beeee kwi-et. I heaw da babee buuds, I heaw da babee buuds."

(Which is to say, "Be quieet, everybody, be quiet... I hear the baby birds, I hear the baby birds." I had to type it in my best approximation of her squeaky little two-year-old voice.)

Of course, we all stopped to listen. She was right - it was Family Dinner Time for the baby birds, too. And ever since, whenever someone in this family needs to take the floor, the standard announcement is, "Beeee quiet, everybody, beeee quiet..."

So that's why I named this blog for the baby birds - because this is where I can take the floor. Did I mention it gets loud in my house? I'm looking forward to having a quiet place to think and say what I want to say.

More later.