Dinner For One
Having dinner alone conjures up thoughts of someone who is lonely or a traveler in a strange place with no friends. But honestly, sometimes the person having dinner alone, just wants to be alone. From her family. And the dog.
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I’d had enough that day — stressful work, household drudgery, children pushing each others’ buttons, dandelions suffocating the lawn — all I wanted was a nice quiet meal with my family.
After work I picked up three kids from three different activities which could not be further apart and still be in the same city. Like mothers everywhere, after My Day Part One, I barely kicked off my shoes before throwing in a load of laundry, starting dinner and wrestling with homework. My Day Part Two.
It started like most stupid arguments do. The dog needed to be fed. And I’d hoped one of “them” wouldn’t find it too difficult to toss a cup of dried food into a bowl while I did “everything else”.
When the hubs arrived, he sat with the newspaper, instigated the kids, (“We’re just playing.”) and didn’t feed the dog. His world had no Part Two.
Nobody got to the table while the food was still hot, no matter how many times I threatened they’d eat it cold. Instead there was an undercurrent of bickering among the children. The only creature living in the house who minded her manners, and didn’t complain at the five o’clock hour, was the dog. She sat patiently waiting, looking to me to be fed.
Finally the family sat at the table, napkins under chins. “Did anybody feed the dog?” I asked while scooping mashed potatoes onto dinner plates. No big surprise; no response.
I left the table, taking up my plate, covered it in aluminum foil, put a cup of dried food in the dog’s dish and walked out the door. Okay, a bit dramatic. But it was a Thursday and I had one more day to go. I drove to one of my favorite spots by the waterfront, where, on a park bench with a stunning sunset view, I sat in peace and quiet and ate my chicken, mashed potatoes and salad.
A sweet young couple pushing a high-end baby carriage walked by. Ah, their first child. I could tell. All smiles and wide-eyed, smitten with the newness of parenthood. The BEST baby on the entire planet, they told me. Two months old. Cute. Adorable. THE. ENTIRE. PLANET.
Clueless.
Enjoy him, I said, and I meant it sincerely. I’d once been a new parent, sucked into the false advertisement of chubby cheeks, soft skin and melodic cooing at 9 a.m.
If not me, then somebody else would keep the park bench warm until the parents of the BEST child on the entire planet becomes a teenager. I sent them a silent blessing and finished my meal.
The sky changed from golden yellow to orange, and then beautiful streaks of pinks and purples danced on the still harbor.
Back at home things had settled down. The dishes were cleaned. Baths done. PJs on. Homework in progress. They were all happy to see me, especially the hubs, who squeezed me and said, “I fed the dog.”
BE F-G AWESOME TODAY!
Original graphic: Stephanie DelTorchio
