Dinner Time – Writing Challenge

dinner timeThis is a bit of an experimental post to be honest. I have a bit of a secret writing ambition – well it’s not a complete secret (see challenge number 19). But, I don’t actually ever do any writing – apart from my recent blog posts. I thought it might be about time to progress this random ambition from the realms of ‘up in the clouds’ to somewhere a bit closer to the ground …. so this led me to taking on my first writing challenge, courtesy of the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge.

It’s only my simple ramblings ….. but here you go ….

Dinner Time

It’s 7 o’clock in the evening. Its been another long day, staring at the computer. My eyes are tired from the glowing screen and my head is tired of thinking. I am watching my little boy lying on the sofa. I think how grown up he is now. He has not long been home from nursery, and he is worn out. He is lolling on the large corner sofa, legs in the air, the soft pale flesh of his tummy exposed, eyes fixed on the large bright coloured screen of the television. His big blue eyes are transfixed. He is in a world of his own, a million miles from here, running around with far more interesting characters than can be found here in the real world. My voice falls on deaf ears. He is not listening to me. In fact he is not listening to anything. I tap his leg. Still nothing. I cheekily pinch his bottom, which I know is bound to get a chuckle. I am right, his face lights up with the cheekiest smile. One look at that smile is enough to melt my stresses and worries away. The pure innocence and love I see in those sparkling eyes is refreshing. I wish we could always be like that. Always have that naïve innocence of fresh hope, a long life of no worries ahead of us. My happy thoughts are soon marred by the remembrance of why I am trying to get his attention.


‘Dinner is ready hunny. Are you going to come and have some?’


‘No. I don’t want it.’ he whines.


‘Please, just come and try a little bit for Mummy.’


‘I said NO! I’m not hungry’, he huffs. So bossy and self-assured for someone so young.


This rigmarole is becoming common place every night. I am at a loss. Torn between the mother’s instinct of keeping her son happy and the duty to ensure he is properly fed. I know he eats well at nursery in the day, but this is only a small consolation. I am disheartened after taking the time to cook his dinner; to be faced with this flat-out refusal to even taste a morsel of the food.


His father is sat in his usual spot – at the kitchen table with his nose stuck in his laptop. I wonder to myself if his arse has moulded itself to that chair. Seeking some mediocre of reassurance I ask, ‘What am I meant to do with him? I am at a loss.’ He looks up from the screen. ‘Try putting the food on the coffee table. He might help himself later on’. I nod in confirmation, thinking it is worth a try. But I know in my heart of hearts that I am probably wasting my time. I carry the plate of chicken nuggets, jacket potato and baked beans into the lounge, where I place it on the coffee table.


‘Would you like to try a chicken nugget?’ I ask in vain.


‘No.’ A simple, yet effective response.


‘Well I’ll just leave it here. In case you change your mind.’




Well I suppose it’s better than screaming and tears I think to myself as I wander back into the kitchen. I turn my attention to fixing mine and Rob’s dinner. I wonder how it has come to this. I think back to when he was younger, when he had a healthy appetite. No, that’s not quite right, he does still have a healthy appetite. The aversion is just to his dinner. It’s something to do with food that might be ‘hot’. I have no idea where this recent distaste has come from, seeming to have appeared out of the blue. Where once he would have been happy munching on some warm pasta, nowadays he just wants a sandwich. I like a sandwich too, I think to myself, but you can’t live off of them alone. I hope that it is a phase that will soon pass. I am tired of the strain of dinner time every night.

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