The littlest dinner guest Recently I had a friend of mine, her husband, and their 3.5 year old son to my place to dinner. I thought the story of how the little guy behaved was somewhat entertaining.
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I met my friend and her family on a Saturday afternoon at the AGO, where we saw an exhibit before coming back to my place. In the car on the way over Jonathan was complaining about how long the ride took. His mother explained to him that Daddy had to drive slow because of all the cars and the traffic, but he just kept complaining. So, to change the subject, I told him I had a present for him at my place — his Christmas present from me, though it was a little late (because my friend and I hadn’t seen each other since the previous August). Then he started complaining because I hadn't gotten the gift to him at Christmas. Why didn't I drive to his house and bring him his present? Don't I know where he lives? Well, why didn't I get a car so I could bring him his present? Also he kept complaining that I wouldn't tell him what was in the present.
He kicked me in the face while getting out of his car seat (okay, that was an accident). Then, when we got into the house, he came into the kitchen where I was seeing to dinner, and said, "Where's my present?" I said I would get it for him in just a minute or two. He kept going, "Where's my present where's my present where's my present where's my present?"
His present was an orange truck that has a horn and running motor noises and also a hand-knit sweater with an orange truck depicted on the front. He rammed the truck into my piano bench repeatedly though my friend told him to stop, and finally only really stopped when she said she would take his truck away if he didn't. He claimed the driver “couldn’t see where he was going”.
I kept calling Jonathan "Jona" (pronounced "YO-na") because my friend always calls him that. But Jonathan objected and said it wasn't his name and acted like he'd never heard it before. Meanwhile he kept calling me Angela (my name is not Angela) or "the lady" or, in loudly whispered asides to his mother, as "HER".
His parents told me they do call him Jona at home and he doesn't even know any Angelas so they don't know where he came up with that one.
Jonathan did have some cute moments. His mother told me when she took him upstairs to the bathroom, he said, "This is a pretty bathroom." And when my friend and I were discussing my having painting the inside of the fireplace black, Jonathan said anxiously, "The lady can't paint the fireplace because the paint will melt." I thought it was very intelligent of him to have thought of that. And of course I explained I had used special paint which was heat-resistant and meant to be used in fireplaces, which assuaged his concerns.
He noticed at supper that he had a different kind of drinking glass than everyone else — he had a tumbler, while we had wine glasses. He complained of this, and his mother told him I probably thought it would be easier for him to drink from the kind he had (which was the truth). He still wasn't happy about having a different kind of drinking glass, so I said, "You have a *special* glass, Jona." (Him: That’s not my name. Me: [deep breath] Pardon me,
Jonathan.) He fell for it. He had a special glass! He was the only one with a special glass! None of us had special glasses! Just him!
Dinner was apricot ginger chicken with zucchini and green pepper, cooked up in the crockpot. I served homemade sour cream rolls with it, and there was homemade mocha banana cake with vanilla ice cream for dessert. Jonathan ate most of the chicken, and all his roll, and was very enthusiastic about his cake and ice cream, but after dinner he walked around the table to my chair and said to me that he “didn’t like the soup because it tasted funny". He repeated this a good four times.
When it was time to go home he didn't want to leave because he was enjoying himself, and he ran away down the hallway and into the kitchen when his mother tried to put his coat on in the foyer. She called out to him that they needed to get home in time for bedtime, but he didn’t come back. I said that was okay, Mummy and Daddy could just leave without him and I would keep him and he could be my little boy instead of theirs. His mother added, "She has a bedroom for you, Jonathan. Or you could sleep with her and cuddle with her at night instead of with Mummy and Daddy."
Jonathan looked quite alarmed at this prospect and ran back to his mother, saying to her in an attempted sotto voce, "I don't want to stay with HER."
I couldn’t help enjoying the fact that my switch-and-bait tactics worked better on him than his mother’s attempts to reason with him.;-)