Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Conditional Love

Ahhh. A serene family dinner. We're practically a Norman Rockwell painting, for goodness' sake! You can almost feel the warm glow of familial love radiating peacefully out at you, can't you? The only thing marring this lovely scene is the look on my father's face. Is he laughing? Screaming? What, in the midst of all this tranquil togetherness, could possibly be causing such an expression to occur? Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Aha! A more detailed analysis of the scene reveals the source of Gramps' distress and/or hilarity. Max, left to his own devices with some ravioli, has been quietly creating a mess which radiates outward for an alarming number of feet on each side. He seems to have dyed his eyebrows red with tomato sauce, there are pasta bits up his nose, and we haven't even discovered what may have been lost down the front of the diaper yet!

Once the coating with slime is as complete as Max can make it, he of course requests a hug. Despite our appearance of all-encompassing love, Max has trouble getting his request met. For some reason, not only is no one hugging him, but they are hastily backing away from the table. What kind of bonds does this seemingly happy family really share, if they can be so easily shaken by a little tomato sauce? Oh, the seedy underbelly of any family dinner is a dark and disturbing thing to behold! Is there any real love to be found anywhere, or is it all just a shallow facade?

8 comments:

Anonymous said...

this just gave me a fantastic idea

I'm moving our dinner table... or at least the baby's portion... to the bathtub.

or the backyard where he can be hosed off during or after eating

Ian said...

Thats really not a bad idea...or maybe a little shower tube that comes down over him after a meal...hm...

Chelsa said...

I am always baffled by apartments (like our current one) that have carpeting in the dining area. I know that not everyone has a Max smearing stuff everywhere, but surely carpet right under a place where people are most likely to spill is just not a good idea. It is the one thing that I miss about our old place (other than the foxtails, of course).

burt said...

what am I... chopped liver?

miss you too

Chelsa said...

Oh, Burt. You know that only the constant pain of being parted from you keeps me from mentioning your absence.

burt said...

that's my girl

Raging Wombat said...

Pasta dinner is always Fright Night at our house. So, so messy.

Chelsa said...

Yeah, I always used to wonder why Julia was such a messy eater, before we started letting Max feed himself. I don't wonder anymore. I wish I still did.