Reality Table Manners

To paraphrase Donald Rumsfeld, we parent the children we have, not the children we wish we had.

When Ben and Garrett packed for Prague, they brought along all the habits -- charming and maddening -- that they had honed in Oneonta. To be fair, we brought ours, too. And, incidentally, there are many days the boys also believe that you have to grow up with the parents you have, not the parents you wish you had.

An issue that has plagued my parenting days is the mostly unfulfilled desire to enjoy, rather than endure, family dinners. The big people are finally putting their feet down -- gently, respectfully -- and declaring enough is enough.

Karl and I will be going out to dinner at Restaurant Pravěk later this month. Perhaps one or both boys will join us, whomever has earned seven checks for good table manners. Each night at home between now and November 20^th, the boys have the opportunity to earn one check. If neither reaches seven, we'll get a babysitter and go out by ourselves. Because if that's the case, we'll need a night out.

Our chart includes easy-to-decipher symbols providing guidelines for expected table behavior.

Don'ts

Put your knees up against the edge of the table. Your feet belong on the floor.


Yell, or speak in escalating tones (often the result of approaching dinner conversation as a competitive sport ... and which usually leads to yelling).


Jump up out of your seat and/or wave your arms in the air. (Like you just don't care.) (Even if you don't.)


Dos


Sit, with feet on the floor, facing your food.


Join the conversation, using modulated, non-ear-crushing tones.


Use appropriate, time-honored phrases of polite discourse.


Clear your place upon finishing your meal.


Here's the current standing.


We're going away for a long weekend on Friday, so the boys don't have a lot of opportunities for proving themselves worthy. But I suspect that we'll all get the meal out, although Garrett might squeak in his seventh check just before the clock runs out. While far from perfect (and we're not actually aiming for perfect because we can't abide that kind of pressure ourselves), Ben and Garrett have matured in this regard. And dinner should be fun, too. Restaurant Pravěk means restaurant of prehistoric times. It has a stone-age feel to it: huge mammoth-like tusks line archways, “saber-tooth tiger” skins hang on the walls, and there are cavemen doodles on the menus.

Wait a minute. Caveman theme? Perhaps we should consider the message we're sending.