Meltdown

In the four days before today, we have eaten out three times.  Two of those were barbecues with neighbours and/or friends, and there was also the Girls’ Brigade end-of-year function.  Tonight was a very ordinary dinner at home.

At first, Fainjin seemed fine with it:  “No party ‘aday!”  But then fatigue and under-excitement got the better of him, and he lost the plot.  Messily.  There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, and lots of snot.  He didn’t want pasta (one of his favourite meals), he didn’t want “gark b’ead” (which he’ll always eat), he wanted fish and chips, he wanted a bikkie, he wanted rice bubbles.

The volume rose and so did the pitch, until he gave himself hiccoughs.  The rest of the family continued with dinner as calmly as possible.  He screamed at me for something.  I told him I couldn’t understand him, and wonder of wonders, he visibly calmed himself enough to ask for water.  Once he’d drunk that, he decided that the pasta didn’t look so bad after all, especially if we would please grate some cheese on top (he wasn’t quite that eloquent, but it sufficed).  And, funnily enough, the more he ate, the better he felt and behaved.  He got two pieces of garlic bread to finish with, and forgot all about the bikkies waiting for pudding.  So did everyone else, so no harm done.  By bedtime he was back to his usual sweet self.

I’m grateful the girls decided to treat him as a spectacle to be observed, rather than a cause to be joined, during dinner.