I yelled.
About a fork.
At the dinner table.
It wasn’t the fork exactly, behind my ire, but the lack of one being used to scoop a rather messy tangle of pasta from plate to mouth.
My intention was a pointed, “hey, buddy, use your fork” sort of motherly nudge.
But instead it came out loud and aggravated.
It surprised us all.
I hated myself. For yelling. For spoiling dinner.
It wasn’t me, exactly, who did it. It was my lesser self. The worn out version of me who has spent more than a dozen years preaching table manners each night.
More than a dozen years:
Use your fork
Use your knife
Don’t pick food off your sister’s plate
Your dress is not a napkin
My dress is not your napkin
It’s dangerous to lick your knife
Don’t pick the crusty bits off the top of the macaroni and cheese, the enchiladas, the fish pie.
Is there a caveman living with us?
Close your mouth when you chew
Stop talking with food in your mouth
Don’t burp at the table
Yes, I do think it was on purpose
Don’t put the dog on the table
Don’t feed the dog at the table
Put your napkin on your lap
Take your napkin off the table
Take your elbows off the table
Don’t lie down during dinner
Use your table manners
Use your table manners
Use your table manners
The dinner table is sacred ground. It’s where so much of the good stuff happens. The one time we are all together. And we tarnish it sometimes, with all this business of table manners — their not measuring up to my standards, my calling them on their every wrong move.
In my heart I am certain that they will grow up knowing how to behave at a dinner table. I know it just as I knew when my oldest wasn’t sleeping through the night by six months that one day she would. And I knew when my middle daughter wasn’t reading in kindergarten that one day she would. And when my youngest cried every time I dropped her off at preschool, that one day she wouldn’t.
Yes, they will have good table manners. Apparently they already do…just at other people’s houses.
So for now, I’m trying to banish that me with the aggravated tone, the yeller, the cop, the preacher. I’m retiring as manners police. I’m not exactly sure how and I’m not giving up on mannerly children. But I’d like to take a gentler tack, and maybe give the kids some room to live up to my expectations.
I’m open to advice.