This Too Shall Pass (G)
Title: This Too Shall Pass
Prompt: 'A Family Dinner'; MUST include a conversation between Ron and/or Hermione, and Rose and/or Hugo.
Rating: G
Word Count: 499
Summary: Hermione's not too fond of dinnertime
A/N: Written for Challenge 8, Round 1 of rwhg_ldws
I’ve grown to hate dinnertime.
As a child it was my favorite part of the day. Not because of the food, but because of the company. It was the one time I had both my parents’ attention. Our family practiced good table manners and engaged in polite conversation.
Now I have my own family and our dinners aren’t quite what I expected. I dreamed of quiet conversations with my husband about our work, and well-mannered children happily enjoying the healthy meals I prepared them.
Obviously, I was delusional.
Not in my wildest nightmares did I imagine the chaos that mealtime would become.
Rose is three, and to say she’s independent is like saying Ron’s heard of the Chudley Cannons.
She’s a perfect combination of me and Ron, which means she’s twice as stubborn as a normal child.
Every night dinner is a struggle. One night she won’t eat anything green, the next everything must be green. First she loves cottage pie, the next week she hatesit. I don’t think there’s been a meal in over a month where she hasn’t declared, “I’m not eating that!”
And Hugo, dear sweet Hugo. He’s nine months old and more interested in eating his feet than anything I put in front of him.
Tonight Rose has declared that blue is the only satisfactory colour for meals - and chicken is yuckier than Hugo’s nappies. Charming, isn’t she?
Ron takes her demands in stride, rarely losing his patience. I think he’s over-indulgent; he thinks I’m too strict. We’re both right and we’re both wrong.
For this meal at least, I’ve charmed Rose’s meal a lovely shade of blue in return for the promise of an empty plate (excluding the chicken of course). The compromise means it’s fairly quiet at her end of the table. That is, until I try to engage Ron in conversation. Rose’s DaddyRadar goes off at this.
I barely get out the words, “Any developments in the-” when she shouts, “I have to poo!”
Of course she does, it’s dinnertime. Can’t have a meal without a trip to the toilet.
When I stand to take her she yells, “No! Daddy do it!”
Ron, bless him, simply rolls his eyes and leaves the table without complaint. Only Rose can get him to set aside a meal, I think.
I return to the task of trying to get Hugo to actually put food into his mouth, rather than an ear or other orifice.
“It’ll get better, won’t it, Hugo?”
“Pffffffttttttttttguhguhguh.”
We always have the most lovely conversations, Hugo and I.
“She’ll outgrow all this eventually; her eating habits will improve.”
No answer.
“It’s just a phase, like this Daddy obsession, right?”
This time he responds, “Dadadada!”
“Not you too!” I laugh. Hugo beams at me, food bubbling over his chin.
“No, I don’t think so, you’ll always be Mama’s little man, won’t you?”
He squeals and throws his hand-milled organic pumpkin in my face.
Did I mention I hate dinnertime?
Prompt: 'A Family Dinner'; MUST include a conversation between Ron and/or Hermione, and Rose and/or Hugo.
Rating: G
Word Count: 499
Summary: Hermione's not too fond of dinnertime
A/N: Written for Challenge 8, Round 1 of rwhg_ldws
I’ve grown to hate dinnertime.
As a child it was my favorite part of the day. Not because of the food, but because of the company. It was the one time I had both my parents’ attention. Our family practiced good table manners and engaged in polite conversation.
Now I have my own family and our dinners aren’t quite what I expected. I dreamed of quiet conversations with my husband about our work, and well-mannered children happily enjoying the healthy meals I prepared them.
Obviously, I was delusional.
Not in my wildest nightmares did I imagine the chaos that mealtime would become.
Rose is three, and to say she’s independent is like saying Ron’s heard of the Chudley Cannons.
She’s a perfect combination of me and Ron, which means she’s twice as stubborn as a normal child.
Every night dinner is a struggle. One night she won’t eat anything green, the next everything must be green. First she loves cottage pie, the next week she hatesit. I don’t think there’s been a meal in over a month where she hasn’t declared, “I’m not eating that!”
And Hugo, dear sweet Hugo. He’s nine months old and more interested in eating his feet than anything I put in front of him.
Tonight Rose has declared that blue is the only satisfactory colour for meals - and chicken is yuckier than Hugo’s nappies. Charming, isn’t she?
Ron takes her demands in stride, rarely losing his patience. I think he’s over-indulgent; he thinks I’m too strict. We’re both right and we’re both wrong.
For this meal at least, I’ve charmed Rose’s meal a lovely shade of blue in return for the promise of an empty plate (excluding the chicken of course). The compromise means it’s fairly quiet at her end of the table. That is, until I try to engage Ron in conversation. Rose’s DaddyRadar goes off at this.
I barely get out the words, “Any developments in the-” when she shouts, “I have to poo!”
Of course she does, it’s dinnertime. Can’t have a meal without a trip to the toilet.
When I stand to take her she yells, “No! Daddy do it!”
Ron, bless him, simply rolls his eyes and leaves the table without complaint. Only Rose can get him to set aside a meal, I think.
I return to the task of trying to get Hugo to actually put food into his mouth, rather than an ear or other orifice.
“It’ll get better, won’t it, Hugo?”
“Pffffffttttttttttguhguhguh.”
We always have the most lovely conversations, Hugo and I.
“She’ll outgrow all this eventually; her eating habits will improve.”
No answer.
“It’s just a phase, like this Daddy obsession, right?”
This time he responds, “Dadadada!”
“Not you too!” I laugh. Hugo beams at me, food bubbling over his chin.
“No, I don’t think so, you’ll always be Mama’s little man, won’t you?”
He squeals and throws his hand-milled organic pumpkin in my face.
Did I mention I hate dinnertime?