Since the kids were born, meals are nary a time for savory socialization. Instead, it’s a strategic placement of cups and food and making sure they don’t climb out of their high chairs, (incidentally, has anyone else noticed that the buckles on those things ARE ALWAYS BROKEN?), or grab my margarita, or scoop up the salsa into their mouths (though I bet they wouldn’t do that twice), or fling food at a neighboring table.
Related. We’ve become very good tippers.
With my male co-workers, I used to be the last to finish lunch. I am ashamed to say that I now finish my meal faster than about half of them. No, I am not proud of this. In fact, I am so embarrassed by it that I wish I had a button that said “Shut up, I have twins.”
I’ve become so conditioned to it that I have had to make it
particularly when eating out without our kids, and especially when eating out with people who do not have kids at all. Otherwise, I’ll look like my one co-worker who has completely inhaled his meal before the rest of us have even unrolled our utensils from the napkin.
When she’s not re-learning table manners alongside boy/girl 21 month old twins, Rachel blogs over at Motherhood.Squared .