Tonight is an ordinary night except that Mr. Mayhem is out of town on business. The Mayhem doesn't want an extravagant dinner for three kids who haven't eaten anything green today, so she heats up one of those skillet meals that come straight from the freezer bag. We've had this before with few problems. Except Mayhem never liked the way the dry chicken cubes were seasoned and even though she can't taste the carrots outright, the fact that she's eating them (which she always does when they're served) bothers her. Oh! Look! It seems this bag portion only lends itself to three kids meals. The ever sacrificing mama will bow out of this one and forage for something *sugary* to feed herself later.
Well guess what. Baby A doesn't care for the seasoning on the chicken either. Nor does B for that matter, but he and E are motivated with the bribe of chocolate cupcakes to be had if everyone will finish their meal. Now here, in real time I was slightly dismayed and mildly annoyed that A was not eating his meal. But gosh darn if I'm not proud of that boy for sticking to his guns in the face of chocolate cake. He would not touch the chicken. Time wore on, food got cold, we got bored.
E got desperate. I had some business with the computer and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was on.. so here we all are "after" dinner vegetating until bedtime. Every five minutes E is asking if there's still time to make cupcakes, and I am answering truthfully until I realize I'm just prolonging his misery. Inevitably there will be no time left to make cupcakes and he'll have spent the last hour of that time in limbo.
So I tell him it's pretty much between him and A. And what came next was nothing short of inspirational. E set about determining what exactly was wrong with the dinner. A told him halfheartedley that "it's too spiceey." Mickey Mouse was riveting. E already knew what to and promptly suggested water to drink. "it's too spiceeeeey" came the echo of a reply. His eyes never left Mickey. Donald Duck is apparently stuck in something and they need a mousekatool to rescue him. "Well," says E, "you could drink some water A. You could take a bite of the chicken and then put some water in your mouth and then eat it and it will make it not spicy."
"It's to spiceeeeeyyy"
The flame of hope flickers and E's quavering voice pleads, "It's NOT SPICY! IF YOU TAKE A DRINK IT'LL NOT BE SPICEY. DON'T YOU WANT US TO HAVE CAKE?!" Tears. "A doesn't want us to have any cake!"
A: "I CAN'T HEEEEEEEEEARRRRR!" We're trying to figure out which mousekatool to use.
I calmly explain to E that it's not him, it's the chicken spice.
The next four minutes is E plying A with cups of water and Donald finally getting free. I'm on my computer "working."
A now wants food and I have enough love for him not to laugh in his face. I just explain that his bowl is on the table. He becomes exasperated that no one is listening when he again explains the chicken. I tell him he can have a drink to take away the spice if he'll sit down. E is on top of it and already has a cup of water for him at the table. A sits, E regains hope, B is happy in his uninterrupted TV trance. Hmmm... I should take this opportunity to step into the garage with the now alert and scavenging dog to sort the recycling.
I'm out for a minute or so when a hyped B throws open the door and jumps onto the stoop. "Get back in with those bare feet!" I chide. Three weeks of recycling and a marauding dog surround me. I'm realizing I drink a lot of instant coffee as the cartons are everywhere. I hear chatter in the background as the door swings shut. A moment later A is in the doorway with his tattle face on. "E poured water on my bowl." He has a definite-ness to his tone. He is sure (for once) that what E had done is not acceptable. I can't fathom such a random act. E is a full head taller than A and s standing directly behind him.
"Is it true?" I ask. They both nod. The tumblers in my head spin and I realize that some sort of washing is going on! E is trying to wash the seasoning off the chicken so it will be edible! "Better to minimize this," I tell myself, "we want to keep the focus on the task of eating..."
"E, take the water out of the bowl please. Put it back in the cup." The two saunter away, closing the door behind them and I go back to sorting.
Another minute passes and the door cracks open. E pops his head out with the most intriguing question I've ever heard from any child, "Are the dishes in the dishwasher clean?" "Yes." "OK." *door closes again*
And I'm trying not to wonder why he should ask such a thing. If you're not responsible for the dishes, or at least of an age where someone expects you to be responsible for the dishes, then I can't - simply can't imagine a scenario where this question comes up. So I have to wonder. And mothers wondering about what their children are doing rarely brings peace.
I quit what I'm doing and walk back in. E is fishing in the dishwasher for... "a spoon."
"I want to use a spoon to get the water out of the bowl. I thought if I put water in the bowl it would make soup and he would eat that instead."
Now, are you as floored by my kid as I am? 'Cuz that one sentence is the whole reason for this blog post. Mind you... he's not trying to get his brother to eat dinner. Remember. He's trying to get a cupcake. This is like four-five-six step problem solving, and I know adults who can't think this far ahead.
I'm shaken from my stunned state as Max's claws clack the tile on his way to search for scraps at A's feet. I come over and gently pour the water from the bowl back to his cup. As I pour I point out that the spice has washed off the chicken (along with most of the cheese sauce coating the meal) in the water and it's now safe to eat. Happy A digs in to dinner. Ten minutes before bed time.
E receives my accolade. How clever he is! His reward is hugs for now, and shall be cupcakes when he gets home from school tomorrow. But in this moment I have to hug him and kiss him and chase the dog away from the dining table for the umpteenth time and feed myself and answer my husband's phone call and clear the table and... move on with my regularly chaotic, overwhelmingly filled, endlessly blessed crazy boring life.
