My mother and I have the fantastical idea that we can raise a little gentleman that is self sufficient, speaks nicely, and uses proper table manners. A proved to us last night that we have our work cut out for us.
The idea was for A to put the condiments on his own hamburger bun. Simple, right? Not for an overly dramatic five year old who has only recently escaped the dreaded clutches of daily nap time. Every night since we cut out nap time he's been Mr. Crabtastic by dinner time. Much to my joy.
We set everything out on the table. Any condiment he could possibly want for his very first do-it-yourself hamburger was out there. A decided to start with mayonnaise. Good choice, right? Well the jar was a little low so he had a small spatula to dole out globs of the stuff and smear it on his bread.
The mustard went just as well as the mayo. Then we hit a small snag. I didn't stop to think of the freakish strength kids use to do simple things. Like, oh... rubbing two pieces of bread together to spread mustard on both pieces.
He squished the poor defenseless bread within an inch, or rather centimeter of its life. About a quarter of the bottom bun said, "Forget this!" and ran for its life.
Obviously this is cause for a bit of stress, right? Not in my eyes, but A was devastated. He's a perfectionist. If something does not go absolutely right the first time around its cause for an Epic Fit.
Quickly I tried to cover up the mess by suggesting we add ketchup. A wailed that he couldn't repeat the squishing to spread the ketchup like he did the mustard. Smart kid, he knew the bun was, well... toast. (haha!)
I hand over the spatula, thinking he can't possibly do any more damage with it. Again, Auntie obviously wasn't thinking. A knocked another chunk of bun free and screamed. (My ears are still ringing)
By then my mother was standing in the door way trying not to laugh at my plight. This was my idea and she was letting me deal with it. Thanks mom. I love you too.
Between the three of us we slap together the rest of the hamburger. A is now bawling and screaming that its ruined, that he can't possibly eat it because it isn't perfect. He gets up from the table three times before his stomach got the best of him and he plopped his butt down.
Mom and I are in stitches. We can hardly breathe, let alone serve ourselves dinner. It was the best dinner entertainment we'd seen in a while. All it cost us was our ear drums!
A did finally manage to eat dinner with us. Notice the trail of tears running down his little cheek? My little drama king got his act together to dress up his own hot dog this afternoon. I'm so proud!