The Dinner Hour

If you're reading this and you are parents of young children you don't need me to tell you how utterly stressful, chaotic and downright dramatic dinners can be...and that's while you're just making it.

In my house we aim to have dinner before 6:00 pm.  And that's only because by 5:30 pm my children are tired, cranky and ... well, hungry.

One of my biggest passions in life is cooking.  I love it even more when I have John Mayer playing in the background and (large) glass of wine.  This passion came late in my life but I've become pretty good at it.  Just ask my husband...he's eaten every single meal I've ever made with absolute relish.  Gotta love a man that loves your cooking!  I actually wanted to become a chef at one point but then thought that it would diminish my enthusiasm if it became my career.  So for now I'll settle for being a chef for the men in my life.  Not that the little men appreciate it all that much now.  But I really, really do hope they will sometime in the future.  I know it sounds so silly but I'd love for my boys to brag to their friends ....."You gotta try my Mom's Spaghetti and Meatballs - they are the BEST!"  or "My Mom makes the most AMAZING burritos you will ever get north of the Mexican border!"  Don't laugh.  Cooking for the people I love gives me a great feeling of contented accomplishment.

So, anyway, every night I cook a pretty nice dinner.  I wouldn't call me a gourmand by any means but I am, for the most part, a 'cook by scratch' kinda Mom (why do I always feel like I should apologize for that?...and by the way it doesn't mean I don't occasionally feed my children Kraft dinner or Nutella sandwiches - I'm not that much of a die hard).

Tonight it was a simple bbq dinner and I had gone grocery shopping with the boys in the morning (thank God, not as tortuous as usual) and bought some steaks.  I turned on the bbq and got the potatoes and onions ready, prepped the steak and started making the salad.  John was outside with Adrian playing hockey and Finley was (as usual) obsessing about opening and closing the screen door.  Open the door, step out of the house, close the door.  Open the door, step into the house, close the door.  Repeat ad nauseam.

And then he had enough.  He found out his daddy and his brother were playing outside without him!  And the tears and tantrums began.  John came to my rescue took him outside for a bit but came inside as dinner was to  be ready shortly.

In less than 5 minutes all hell broke loose.

Finley fell on his face and scraped his forehead on the deck, then fell into the dog's water bowl and Adrian started screaming because he cut his arm on his plastic (piece of shite) Iron Man mask.

Two bleeding screaming kids, one also soaked in slobbery dirty dog water, a stressed out Mumma who's trying to get dinner ready while cleaning up the kitchen and a Daddy who is doing his best to diaper Finley, take care of Adrian's (minor) scratch and calm them both the H. E. double hockey sticks down.

Finally dinner was put on the table.  John and I shovel down our food between getting up to retrieve sippy cups, condiments and other random food items for the kids to eat (and to keep them from freaking out).  One of those random food items happened to be carrots.

As I'm inhaling my steak, potatoes and salad I see Finley place a carrot AND soother in his mouth so that the carrot was literally hanging out the side of his lips while his soother is almost flush with his mouth.  It's gone beyond addiction now if that's even possible.

I ask my husband "Do you see what he's doing right now???"  Of-course he does and we just shake our heads in unison.

Then Adrian, not to be outdone....never to be outdone (although I'm not sure how you outdo a kid who shoves a carrot stick and a soother in his mouth simultaneously)...sticks his carrot on the end of his nose and exclaims proudly, "Look guys, I'm just like Frosty!!!"

And there you have it.  Just another regular dinner chez Soden's.



**Stay tuned for Foodie Fridays where I will be doing a recipe post every Friday**