I have always had this thing about family meals. I suppose I heard that thing about how families eating dinner together keeps the kids from becoming drug dealers or pornographers. Or was it safe from shark attacks? I forget the specifics. Anyway, family dinner was supposed to prevent it. And because I am nothing if not a slave to half-understood concepts, I make sure we all eat together, whether we like it or not.
And sometimes its not. Because I might be more successful in my fork efforts with African Wild Dogs instead of these children. But still, we soldier on.
So yesterday at dinner, I put my foot down and insisted we talk like people instead of spout nonsense words and snort at each other, which is pretty much how the boys communicate. Somehow a discussion of my husband’s day at the office led to a discussion of the Chrysler building, which led to architectural stories of the city skylines, with a detour to William Penn’s curse, and then head on a disagreement about a probably apocryphal tale of construction races, and that sent us racing toward a book to look something up, and that showed us this picture of a building that was torn down.
I mean, really? Why would you tear that down?
“We’ll get them! I said. “Even if we have to call Klinger’s uncle.”
“That’s right Mommy!” These brave lads chimed in. “We’re going to get those bad guys and take their tools away and drain the gas from their bulldozers and take them to JAIL. Then we will build that building again and we will make it so strong that nobody can tear it down again.”
Excuse me, I am going to take a moment to swoon. My little architectural preservationist heroes.
Of course, all of this made dinner run so late that we were late getting to bed. But I was glad I insisted on real talking at the dinner table.
And look out Mr. Zeckendorf. They are coming. For you.
And they have a nerf sword.