The Boy’s a cool kid. He's the coolest five year old I know. Granted, I don't know a lot of five year olds but I'm guessing he's still one of the coolest.
I have dinner with him regularly. Two or three times a month, sometimes more. That's a lot of meals in five and a half years. The usual seating arrangement has me sitting next to his big brother on one side and my Uncle on my other side. The three of us usually get along just fine - no hiccups in the system. Big Brother will occasionally wrap his leg around mine or lay his hand on my lap. He even once curled up against my chest and had a nap during dinner. The Uncle doesn't kick up a fuss when I jokingly lick his favourite fork or take a bite out of his dessert as it's passed down the table to him.
I have, on occasion, sat next to Mini-Me and The Goddaughter. The Goddaughter’s a great dinner companion. She'll tell you stories and answer any math questions you might have. She'll even clear away your dinner plate when you're done. Mini-Me's getting better - she's not wearing as much food as she used to but she's still semi contained in her chair so you can leeeeean away from any outstretched food-covered fingers.
Then there's The Boy. For some reason, I swore him off as a dinner companion a couple of years ago. For the life of me, I could not remember why. Sure, across the table he's a great dinner date but I was sure I didn't want him setting next to me. Why? Why? Why? It's been so long, maybe there's no good reason why. Or maybe whatever it was, he's outgrown.
This particular dinner last year was at my Aunt and Uncle’s, who are grandparents to all these children. Spaghetti and Lobster. Seating arrangements are being made. Looks like I'll be next to The Boy. Cool, it's been ages! The Boy on one side, The Uncle on the other - I can handle it. Or can I?
The kids are all having spaghetti but get some lobster claws to try. Here's where the trouble comes in. Snap! Snapsnap. It's the sound of lobster claws. Or better yet, the sound a five year old boy makes when he's pretending the lobster is snapping his dinner companion. Snapsnapsnap. On my arms. snap snap on my legs. Snap snap on my cheeks. Honey, Karen doesn't like lobster. Snap snap. Snap snap on my boobie. Snap snap. He's so cute doing it, you can't help but laugh.
"Boy," I say, "you and I will never sit next to each other again."
"At least not when there's lobster," he replies (at least he sees where the problem is!).
I have dinner with him regularly. Two or three times a month, sometimes more. That's a lot of meals in five and a half years. The usual seating arrangement has me sitting next to his big brother on one side and my Uncle on my other side. The three of us usually get along just fine - no hiccups in the system. Big Brother will occasionally wrap his leg around mine or lay his hand on my lap. He even once curled up against my chest and had a nap during dinner. The Uncle doesn't kick up a fuss when I jokingly lick his favourite fork or take a bite out of his dessert as it's passed down the table to him.
I have, on occasion, sat next to Mini-Me and The Goddaughter. The Goddaughter’s a great dinner companion. She'll tell you stories and answer any math questions you might have. She'll even clear away your dinner plate when you're done. Mini-Me's getting better - she's not wearing as much food as she used to but she's still semi contained in her chair so you can leeeeean away from any outstretched food-covered fingers.
Then there's The Boy. For some reason, I swore him off as a dinner companion a couple of years ago. For the life of me, I could not remember why. Sure, across the table he's a great dinner date but I was sure I didn't want him setting next to me. Why? Why? Why? It's been so long, maybe there's no good reason why. Or maybe whatever it was, he's outgrown.
This particular dinner last year was at my Aunt and Uncle’s, who are grandparents to all these children. Spaghetti and Lobster. Seating arrangements are being made. Looks like I'll be next to The Boy. Cool, it's been ages! The Boy on one side, The Uncle on the other - I can handle it. Or can I?
The kids are all having spaghetti but get some lobster claws to try. Here's where the trouble comes in. Snap! Snapsnap. It's the sound of lobster claws. Or better yet, the sound a five year old boy makes when he's pretending the lobster is snapping his dinner companion. Snapsnapsnap. On my arms. snap snap on my legs. Snap snap on my cheeks. Honey, Karen doesn't like lobster. Snap snap. Snap snap on my boobie. Snap snap. He's so cute doing it, you can't help but laugh.
"Boy," I say, "you and I will never sit next to each other again."
"At least not when there's lobster," he replies (at least he sees where the problem is!).
...Kare
email: karenk{at}eastlink.ca
website: http://kare.showitsite.com
