My Mother the Vegetable Pimp

Meal time in my house could be described as barely controlled chaos. My dad cooks; most of the time it is delicious, sometimes its just OK, and once in a blue moon his experimental cooking goes really, truly, awfully, horribly wrong. Regardless of the outcome, the meal always starts the same way - six of us gathered around the table, waiting, whining, begging, and pleading for my mother to come to the table so we can eat. In my mother's universe - which is a totally seperate place from where the rest of us live, by the way - the eating of unblessed food is a cardinal sin.

When Mom finally breezes into the kitchen, instead of going straight for her chair, she casts a critical eye upon the table to see what we have missed. No matter how hard we try, its always something. "Is that yesterday's water? No? Do we have enough napkins? What about knives? I know we're eating macaroni and cheese, but you must have a knife. Those are salad forks. Where are the dinner forks? Does anyone need a napkin? Who sat in my chair? There are crumbs by my plate. Charles, was it you? Is that a spot on the tablecloth? ARE YOU EATING AN UNBLESSED CROUTON? Is there a serving spoon for the squash? Napkins?" I wish I were exaggerating, but this is really how it goes. By the time she sits down, we are all hungry, edgy and ready to shank her with a soup spoon.

One of the girls gives a quick blessing on the food, and Mom immediately launches into a criticism of the prayer. Too short, talking too fast, lacking in deep metaphysical meaning, etc. I am certain that the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, mercy, and understanding, knows that the person giving the prayer is irritated, hungry enough to eat the contents of the recycling bin, and above all else, a child. I mention this to my mother, at which point she turns from prayer critic to parenting critic, and complains about my "relaxed" parenting and how silly it is of me to allow my children to make choices for themselves. Then, the real fun begins: The dinner conversation. It starts out with me asking someone about their day, which invariably leads to:

No. 3: Well, me and Elizabeth went to the park and -

Mom: Elizabeth and I went to the park

No. 3: (Sighs) Elizabeth and I went to the park and down by the creek there was this -

Mom: Does anyone need a napkin?

No. 3: Anyway, down by the creek there was a frog and -

Mom: Who would like some Lima beans?

(No. 3 growls in frustration and rolls eyes)

Me: I'm listening, tell me about the frog.

No. 3: So we tried to catch it, but Elizabeth-

Husband: Hey, isn't Wipeout on tonight?

No. 3: (With visible irritation) But Elizabeth hit her head on a tree branch and then -

Mom: There aren't enough vegetables on the table. Who wants a carrot?

No. 3: (Slightly louder) Then she fell in the creek, and-

Mom: Celery? Would anyone like celery?

Me: I'm still listening. Is Elizabeth OK?

No. 3: Yes, but her pants-

Mom: Did you eat some lima beans? What about carrots?

No. 3: BUT HER PANTS RIPPED-

Mom: Has everyone had some vegetables? Who wants the rest of these lima beans?

No. 3: (Stands up) AND SHE SKINNED HER KNEE!! (Agressively puts dirty dishes in the sink and stomps off, followed closely by No. 1 and No. 2)

Mom: Where do you think you're going? We are having a family conversation here!

At this point, the conversation comes full circle and the topic returns to my piss-poor parenting skills.