Reading at the Dinner Table | Halifax, NS

We sat across from each other at the table in the restaurant.  We had opted for a late lunch at a local all day breakfast restaurant and on the way in he picked up the newspaper.  As we sat in the booth, he pulled the paper out and asked me to give him a minute to glance at the headlines.  The International Money Fund had a new leader.  News.  I didn't want news.  I grabbed The Arts and Travel sections to find something a little lighter and more interesting.  

There we sat til our meals came, both of us with our newspaper sections opened and heads bowed in deep thought.  It was then that I had a flashback.  Mom's father, Grampa Gillis, always read at the table.  Mom had once told me that when she was little, she and both her parents read in silence at the dinner table.  Meals were never like that when I was growing up.  We had big family dinners on Sundays, with our meals in the dining room instead of at the kitchen table, usually with candlelight and soft music and loads of conversation.

Grampa Gillis came to live with us when I was a little older.  I don't have specific memories of him reading when we were all at the table, but he would often have meals alone with the newspaper spread out all over the table while he took it all in.  Although he was ill and wouldn't leave the house, he would tear ads out of the paper.  The next person to sit down to read the paper would open it to peer through the hole where the ad had once been, forever missing the end of the article that had once been on the page before or after the advertisement. 

I smiled at the memories of life so long ago and I glanced up at Jason, still enthralled with the Money Fund.  This is our life now and it seems so comfortable.  So long as reading at the table doesn't become a habit.  :-)

...Kare

email:  karenk{at}eastlink.ca

website:  http://www.karenkyte.com

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Dinner with The Boy | Monday Memories | Halifax, NS

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!).

 
  

...Kare

email:  karenk{at}eastlink.ca

website:  http://kare.showitsite.com 

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You wipe your own butt, don't you? | Monday Memories | Halifax, NS

The following story happened last year when my cousin was babysitting her sister's children.  The youngest was four years old at the time.  I like to call her Mini-Me -- because I like to believe I was that cute when I was her age; and because I secretly like to tease Mini-Me's mom, who I'm sure would rather believe Mini-Me actually looks like her.  Since I'm the storyteller, I get to name her whatever I like...

:-) 

Ahhhhhh, five days in Jamaica in April, doesn't it sound lovely?
 
I'm sure it was, but I bet it wasn't as much fun as the five days babysitting the kids while the folks were away on vaycay (yeah, it was a "business" trip.  In Jamaica.  Sure).  Of course, "fun" is a relative word considering there was vomiting and diarrhea involved in the babysitting.
 
The kids' Aunt had to deal with the vomiting and diarrhea, I had none of that.  Not even any poop.  Well... there was poop conversation.
 
Day 3, maybe Day 4
Mini-Me's been sick, she's the 2nd of the kids to be sick this week.  The Aunt gives her some Tylenol before bed (and to be honest, I wasn't in charge of the meds, it was some sort of sick children's liquid something or other).  Whatever it was, it perked her right up.
 
8pm, showers, pj's, prayers, bed, it's all good.   The kids' Mom calls and talks to The Aunt about the day and I'm on my way out to the door to head home for the night when I hear a little voice from upstairs.  It's Mini-Me, she needs to pee.  Sure, no problem, let's go.  She hops up on the throne and I attempt to give her some privacy and turn to leave the room.  
 
Mini-Me - Where are you rushing off to?
Me - Um, well I have to go home soon.
M-M - Why?
Me- It's, um, almost my bedtime.
M-M - What time is it, is it 9 o'clock yet?
Me - No, not yet.
M-M - Then you don't have to go home.
Me- I do, it's late
M-M - no!  After the kids go to bed, that's when the parents do the dishwasher, and the vacuuming, and the cleaning, and the singing (I swear she said singing!)
 
At this point, I give up... I'm not getting out of there any time soon.  I settle in and have a seat on the kids' stepstool.  Mini-Me eyes the lysol.
 
M-M - what's that?
Me - Lysol
M-M - No, I mean, what's the chemicals?
Me - Chemicals?  You're 4, how do you know chemicals?  You're pretty smart, eh?
M-M - (matter of factly) Uh-huh
 
Then she spelled her name and her brother's name, then my name.  More random conversation, then she talked about how her feet were going to sleep (um, yeah, you've been there quite awhile now).   There didn't seem to be any action going on except the conversation so I finally asked her if she was pooping. No, I'm just peeing.  Okay then.
 
A few minutes and more random conversation later, I hear some tooting.  Again, matter of factly... Now I'm pooping.
 
Once she's done, she reminds me that she's not allowed to wipe her bum yet, someone has to do it for her. Uh-oh.  Where's The Aunt when you need her?  HA!  Luckily, she's off the phone and coming up the stairs.
 
Me - why don't we let The Aunt wipe your bum?
M-M - why can't you do it?
Me - The Aunt should do it
M-M - But why can't you do it?
Me - um, The Aunt has more practice
M-M - you wipe your own butt, don't you?
 
I don't think I stopped giggling long enough to answer this one.  In all fairness... if The Aunt hadn't been around, I would've done what needed to be done.  But there she was.  And she does have more practice than I do.  Even though I do wipe my own butt.
 

...Kare

email:  karenk{at}eastlink.ca

website:  http://kare.showitsite.com 

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