never dull moment
especially at dinner
our happy freak show
It is dinner time. I am one-handedly pumping while the daddy wrangles children at the table. The wee one is mad because the mac and cheese "doesn’t feel good on [his] teeth." The wee-er one is mad because she is two and she is just mostly mad all the time.
In fact, she’s so mad she is turning into a little pink-shirted italian stereotype. She is adding extra syllables to emphasize her anger.
"Do you want cereal?"
Do you want any food at all?"
"NO ANY FOOD-ah! NO LIKE-ah FOOD-ah!"
She has just run screaming past me in the living room because she was mad that the wee one got his corn first. She is standing by the front door, screaming like she might be invisibly on fire. She is obviously planning her escape from this den of corn inequality.
The wee one, on the other hand, has started his nightly dead people dinner discussion. (Alliteration!)
"Who do you know that’s dead who I would’ve liked?" he asks.
"How many presidents are dead now?"
"Was anyone killed who was running for president?"
"Would he have liked me?"
Why the dead talk at dinner? Who knows. But now he’s helping calm the wee-er one down by offering her the food he himself is refusing to eat. Meanwhile, my husband is spontaneously talking to them in a British accent. Not on purpose. He has too many international phone calls at work these days.
OK. My nipples are sufficiently teat-i-fied and need to be extricated from the Pumping Flanges of Sucking Suck. Remember in the Princess Bride when Westley is being tortured by the six-fingered man and the six-fingered man says, "I have just sucked one year of your life away," and Westley responds with a drawn out whimper? I am Westley. The Medela Symphony is the six-fingered man. And now that the torture is finished, I am going to go pop a giant piece of chocolate in my mouth and ignore the tantrums and dead people questions.
Have fun storming the dinner table!