Looking after small children brings you back to the primal things of life. Things you previously never really bothered to think about, you just did.
Like eating.
Eating is something I have no problem in doing. I like it, particularly if it involves one of the four 'C' food groups: Chocolate, Coke, Confectionery or Coffee. (I am trying hard to be a good nutritional role model for my children, obviously). I usually have no issue in getting the food from the fridge to the mouth with very little conscious effort on my part. In fact, there are often times when I take a biscuit into our study, only to wonder where it disappeared in the short journey to my office chair.
Watching children learn how to eat, however, is another thing entirely.
Our son is slowly learning how to scoop up peas and corn for himself. It's not a new lesson; we've been teaching him for about a year now. Usually he gives up on his fork and picks them up individually, or lets them "disappear" under the table where the dogs lie in wait. Adding sauce to the dinner mix is a dangerous combination. Our early photos of him covered in vegemite sandwich have been replaced by photos of him covered in barbeque sauce. He seems to like that rather a lot.
Our daughter is at a slightly more problematic stage. She's frustrated with having us spoon feed her, but hasn't got the motor skills required to put the spoon in her own mouth. Being the spirited child she is, dinner times now require earplugs or the ability to shovel food like the wind.
And we now have photos of her covered in vegemite sandwiches.
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