Dinner conversations at our house are NOT for the feint of heart

I’d like to say we eat dinner together as a family every night. I’d like to, but I won’t because that would be wrong. Because basically it would be a lie. A big lie. A big, fat, WHOPPING lie.

Upon further reflection I’d like to change the above introduction to read: I’d like to say my husband and I eat a nice quiet dinner, with meaningful conversation ALL BY OURSELVES miles and miles away from the nearest 9yo with an inquiring mind and nearest 10yo with a case of the preteen pouts.

The reality is we eat dinner together as a family a couple of times a week on average. Oh sure there are the weeks when I’m feeling very Carol Brady-ish all week long, but most of the time I’m feeling Roseanne-Barr-ish or perhaps Lucille-Ball-ish. So on average, twice a week.

I was feeling pretty Brady-ish today, so I actually got some chores done. Let me just say that any time mopping is involved you know I’m feeling Brady-ish, which is actually kinda weird, because didn’t Carol have a housekeeper for all the mopping-like chores?

When I’m in a Brady kind of a mood, you know I’m all about the home-cooked meal (again very weird since I’m pretty sure Alice did most of the cooking, but the messed-up workings of my mind are infamous, so there ya go!).

I’m all about the having the kids cheerily clear and set the table while I’m whistling and smiling contentedly (what? that’s not possible? leave me alone, I’m having a delusion of grandeur here!!) as I lovingly(?!) chop the veggies to go with our healthy salad, the kids and I patiently waiting on Daddy to get to the table to say the blessing (that just sounds so much nicer than the munchkins bickering at each other while I fold a load of laundry, don’t you think?), and of course… the delightful dinner conversation. Little vignettes of our happy, productive days being shared back and forth, with loving compliments on accomplishments being passed right along with the parmesan. (We had Upside Down Pizza for dinner!)

Yeah, right. OR…. the 9yo might have asked just how is it that a condom keeps the sperm from getting to the egg anyway…

Then, upon receiving an answer to that question, he just might have asked some other questions.

And it just might have evolved into a big, long discussion on just exactly what happens to all those thousands of eggs we females are born with if they DON’T turn into babies?

And being female myself I have to say that while we (ok, I) shared with our kids the ugly truth, I really do wish the truth were prettier.

About here my dahling 9yo asked if it hurt when we, ummm, get rid of unused stuff. At which point my not-so-dahling-right-now husband told him, “I didn’t feel a thing!” and laughed. He LAUGHED, ladies! Can you imagine?!

Don’t worry. =) Conversation soon turned to more pleasant things… what? You don’t believe me? Neither do I. How about pit bulls and how they have been known to tear poor little babies’ faces off? (This was because the kids had recently been offered a pit bull puppy. We were explaining just WHY this was absolutely, uh-uh, no-way, never ever EVER, gonna happen. To their little minds “FREE PUPPY” meant Mom and Dad would certainly say yes because after all, we HAD told them we would get another dog, and we ARE cheapskates, so FREE and PUPPY = New Friend!!! Right? WRONG!)

So anyhow, the whole pit bull attack thing, of course, led the kids on a google image search of pit bulls. And THAT led to (among other even sadder and scarier images that are just TOO horrible to reproduce here as they involve precious little children and I am now trying to scrub my eyeballs and heart free of those images, but which are probably included in the search results that will pop up if you click on that google link) — this:

Pit bull vs porcupine

Yeah, I don’t think this family will be winning any dinner conversation awards. I’m thinking it’s probably a good thing we don’t eat OUT together as a family more than a handful of times a year! Oh, and I’m also betting that the restaurants we visit are very grateful (whether they realize it or not!) that we do not own a google-enabled laptop with which the children can easily pull up visuals for the entire restaurant’s patronage to enjoy… because pretty much? I’m betting they wouldn’t enjoy. At all.

Bet you’re not eating dinner now, but if you WERE, I’m sorry for ruining your pizza. Truly.

One more thing. Do you think the conversation problem is because we don’t have enough practice with the whole sit-down eat dinner together thing? Or do you think we don’t sit down and eat dinner together BECAUSE of the conversation problem? I’m leaning towards the latter since right now just thinking about a repeat performance is making me want to run and hide.

One more, one more thing. Rest assured, this post really does NOT have a thing to do with the last one, although admittedly it could LOOK like it… The whole itching ovaries thing was not mentioned around the kids, though it IS common knowledge round these here parts that Mom would NOT be adverse to another baby or six. ;-)

The question that started this whole mess I think came about because we had a discussion on how/why identical twins look alike the other day that involved chalkboard drawings of eggs being fertilized and then splitting. That coupled with a prior knowledge that condoms = no babies, which could have been learned from a billion different places. I can’t remember how long back the kids knew that little nugget of knowledge. It is a shame, but it is the sad truth. Throw all that in the mind of a 9 year old boy, and let it stew for a day or two…

And ok, in hindsight I really CAN see how it would have been MUCH better form for us as parents to hand out a “that’s not polite dinner conversation, we’ll talk about it later” statement, and then follow it up… later… away from the dinner table. Thing is? My mind doesn’t work that way yet. I’m trying, but I’ve just not gotten there yet. Really, the only thing that crossed my mind when the question was popped was just exactly how NON-graphic could I make my response while still telling him the truthful answer.

Kinda explains this post, too, huh?

Also those ovaries aren’t itching near so much after tonight’s 3 and a half hour long getting-ready-for-bed battle. It’s 11:30pm for pete’s sake!! Sheesh-ka-bobs!

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