Once Upon A Spaghetti Dinner

Expect the unexpected is the only advice I have if you plan on eating a meal with myself and my family. Actually, scratch that. Expect the unexpected in every moment that involves my family. I’ve always thought we should invest in a reality show, here’s a little insight into why I think that. I feel like you’ll probably agree by the time this little story is finished.

First, my Mother, despite the fantastic cook she is, greatly overestimates how much spaghetti five people are able to consume, boiling enough noodles to feed roughly the entire street. After we have fixed our plates, are seated, and the mountain of noodles has been reduced to a slightly smaller mountain of noodles, that’s when the real excitement begins. My youngest sister, aged eight, rambles about A.R. tests, Jacob B. eating glue for a mid-morning snack, cap erasers in the shape of zoo animals, and other earth shattering topics. At least, earth shattering to a third grade mindset. My other sister Hannah, aged thirteen, in the midst of our dinner time conversations, suddenly erupts with disgust.

“YOU ARE DISGUSTING! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT! MOM! DID YOU SEE THAT?! DO SOMETHING!” This statement is directed at Lydia who just momentarily touched her plain spaghetti with her hands. Not smeared it into her face and down her shirt with force, merely touched it. My Mother calmly tells Hannah, who mistakenly believes she is designated disciplinarian of the house, to calm down and get off Lydia’s case. Hannah snorts in disagreement simultaneously examining Lydia as if she were a foreign and grotesque specimen. Ah, thirteen year old attitude, so pleasant. At this point my Dad, whose main focus when seated at the table is eating, hasn’t said much. He nods in agreement with my Mother and every so often asks for the salt and pepper. A man of few words, I can appreciate that.

Moving on though, less than five minutes after the noodle touching incident, my Mother throws her hands up in the air. “OH NO. EVERYBODY STOP.” I am startled at the sudden exclamation from my left. The scrape of my fork on my plate echoes in the now silent kitchen as we await the announcement of my Mom’s apparent light bulb moment. “Did anyone see that?” Still a little uncertain of what’s really going on; I glance around and shake my head - I’m pretty sure everyone else does the same. “Hannah just licked her plate.” Hannah immediately raises her voice to protest despite the fact my Mom just personally witnessed her in the act of licking her plate. Might I remind you, this is the same girl that minutes earlier condemned Lydia for simply touching her plain spaghetti. Several times she argues to try and defend herself, which ultimately fails, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

My role in this dinnertime fiasco has been a small one. I mainly observe, ignore, throw in my two cents, mumble sarcastic comments under my breath, contemplate sliding under the table and out of the room, or a combination of all the mentioned. Now, don’t get me wrong. Yes, Hannah would argue with a dead raccoon on the highway via the car window, Lydia does not realize constant chatter is unfavorable, and my Mom finds humor in the strangest of places but I find my family highly amusing and despite their endless quirks, I guess I kind of like them. This event is only the tip of the iceberg, per say, one of a million meals we have shared and will share, as we eat together every night. Some days it makes me laugh and some days it makes me wonder if I am adopted. Either way, it’s always an adventure.