Dinner!

Okay boys!  Time to eat!

 “What are we having?” (even though it is ready to serve right in front of their eyeballs)

Answer- “Spaghetti with meat sauce”

Reaction-“YES!  I AM SO HUNGRY!  GIVE ME A PLATEFULL!!! AW, MOM!  THIS IS GREAT!!!”

or

Answer- “Grilled chicken salad with goat cheese, almonds, pears, green onions and grape tomatoes”

Reaction-“oh.” (heads down, heaving sigh)

There were six of us in the Patterson household.  Every evening Dad always came home with dinner ready.  The only time we ordered out or went out was some special Saturday night and it was Ken’s Pizza.  I did not like the usual supreme that was ordered, so- like clockwork, I took my pieces, carried my plate to the “Big Red Table” and proceeded to scrape EVERYTHING off of my pizza because it was covered with onions, and peppers, and olives.

 WHO EATS THAT??? BARF!

I was perfectly content with pizza the way I loved it….crust with the only sauce left from scraping off the toppings and a HUGE glass of Pepsi.  Voila! It was the perfect royal meal for only the most demanding of 7 –year- old- Princesses- in -training.  Mom never said a word; however my brothers and sister were sure to give me the what for. 

 “How can you EAT like that?  It’s just crust…with sauce??  You are scraping the good stuff off??  You even scrapped the cheese off? (Duh- the grody stuff is TRAPPED in the cheese!!) Here… I’ll take it.  You REALIZE that is the part we PAY for don’t you??”

Once everyone had their pieces and the onslaught of wasteful pizza banter died out, it was all of us…together at the big red table.  We were all quiet and smiley with our fizzy glasses of Pepsi and our Ken’s pizza… and my crust. Such a great moment.  Such a warm fuzzy memory!

Or….

It was a cold wintery night at the Patterson household.  My Dad and brothers were out hunting and on their way back. Mom was busy in the kitchen.  She asked me to come in and make the cornbread.  I loved to make the Jiffy cornbread! YAY!

As I walked into the kitchen…I knew my joy met its arch rival.  SPLIT….PEA….SOUP.

(gag, wretch, gag)

“Erin Kristin, you get in here and start on the cornbread, please.”

I slowly take the eggs and milk out of the refrigerator and quickly size up what ELSE I can have for dinner.  All I have time to scope out was strawberry jelly.  Whew! Plan B has been set.

 I got everything ready for the cornbread.  Mom put it in the oven.  I just stared at the big soup pot gurgling and boiling like it was truly the witches brew WAITING to put the princess into a year –long slumber. The sloppy green stew HAD to be made with frogs.  It just had to.

So my brothers and dad came home ready to eat. As my sister helped serve everything up, they all washed their hands and sat at the “Big Red Table” exclaiming how hungry they were and couldn’t wait to eat.  I, on the other hand, was sulking on the couch in the living room begging “Hee Haw” to come up with one heck of a skit to pull everyone from the kitchen table and completely bypass the soup.

“Erin Kristin, you get in here and join us for dinner, please.”

I sat down…stared at my bowl.  Looked around at everyone actually EATING IT and then stared at my bowl, again.  I got crafty.  Grabbed my cornbread and noshed on that delightful little square of “yum” for as long as I possibly could. Then came my brilliantly genius announcement.

“i’m full.”

“You didn’t eat your soup”

“yes I did.”

“Erin Kristin, you will sit here at this table until that bowl is empty, thank you.”

Challenge accepted.

I sat there and just stared at it.  One by one everyone left the “Big Red Table” grabbing their dishes and shaking their heads.  Big Boy stopped and said, “Just shovel it in there!  It’s good!” I didn’t even look at him.  I just continued to stare. The sun was going down.  My sister flipped on the light above the table. I continued to stare…not touching it.

All alone in a dark kitchen with "the light of the spanish inquisition", I remember my bottom falling asleep, so I started rocking from side to side.  My feet were getting cold.  I was getting very tired.  Then, the worst….. I had to go to the bathroom.  Rocking faster and continuing to stare at the soup, I began to tear up ONLY because I lost the battle.

“Mom?”

 In walks Mom. She took the soup and put it in the sink.  She came back to the table with the princess- in- training quickly rocking back and forth. We just stared at each other without a word, my tears welling.

“Go on.”

Once I took care of business, I walked the “walk of shame” back to the living room where she and dad sat.  The guilt was AWFUL. She won and she didn’t even know it (or did she?).

“i’m sorry”

She continued to read the paper.  “That’s okay, darlin.’ Go get ready for bed, please”.

The memory is ironically as vivid as pizza night.  Not the warm fuzzy memory, quite the cold prickly, but still every detail immaculately told.  And yes, my retelling this perfectly chronicled tale proves that indeed…SHE WON.