The Mini Van Soap Box

I would like to think for the most part, I'm a good mom. For all of the jokes that I make here, and all the mistake I've made along the way, at the end of the day I'm pretty proud that I actually grew a person - and that I've managed to keep her in one piece this long. She's well cared for, fed and clean. She knows how to brush her own teeth, put away her toys and wipe her own butt. She's cute as a button, friendly and oddly enough seems to be pretty smart too.

However (you knew one was coming), while I would love to keep writing about all the good that I've done and all the right choices I've made in the last five years - clearly not every choice has been great.

Like that time I sent her to school with a peanut butter sandwich, peanut butter cookies, and celery with peanut butter.....To a non-peanut school. Rookie mistake.

Dinner has always been a questionable time in our house. There were a few things that were discussed when my husband and I got married - and of those things - his laundry and his meals were two things that I made sure he understood would not be automatically be done by me. As long as we are both working full time, these two things would not be dubbed as "pink jobs" and fall on my shoulders. If he wants to wear dirty clothes, that's his business. If he wants to eat steaks and mashed potatoes every night, that's his business as well.

The other 'stuff', I realize falls to me. And not because it has to....but mostly because he doesn't care/or realize it needs to be done. You know...stuff like...dusting and vacuuming and shit. Anyway, I'm getting off topic.....Where was I? Oh, right, dinner time.

So, we had a kid. And for a while they just drink stuff. And then they just eat baby food. And since she had the misfortune of being born into a family that eats dinner at two different times a night, we got into this weird time schedule of eating rotations at the house. She eats around 5:30 or so, my husband would eat after her, and then I eat after everyone goes to bed.

All very strange I know.

So, this last year the 'Mama, this looks funny' and the 'Mama, I don't want anything but pasta' and the 'Mama, NO!!! BROCCOLI WILL KILL ME' has finally reached it's limit, and about a week ago I told my husband that I have had enough. I'm tired of fighting about food, and while although she is partly to blame, we are as well. We've never given her a real idea of what it's like to ALL sit down and eat. What it looks like when we ALL sit down and eat the same thing.

So, Family Dinner was born.

So, that very next night, I run home from work and within a half hour have food splattered all over the walls and have shit in every single pot I own (I'm really hoping I get better at this). She is BESIDE HERSELF with excitement....like this is the coolest thing we've EVER DONE...which of course makes me want to sink into the hardwood floor and die. She wants to be part of it - set the table, fold the napkins, cut the onions (No, I didn't give her a knife...remember I said I'm a GOOD mom). We finally all sit down to our first official dinner and dig in....

She turns and looks at me and says "Mama, It's like we're a FAMILY!"

Kill me. Kill me now.