Melt Down

I had quite a melt down at the dinner table last night. Ever since day light savings time started ... let's see, about 4 moths ago ... Pop has been getting up late in the morning, 10 sometimes 11 making his breakfast time close to lunch time, his lunch time around 3 and dinner around 6:30 or 7:30. The rest of the family is eating on a traditional meal schedule; breakfast between 8 and 8:30, lunch around 11:30 or noon, and dinner around 5:30 or 6:00. His lack of adjustment has put me in the position of double duty. Reminiscent of the days when my newborns controlled my schedule with their irregular eating habits, I am finding myself preparing our meals and then accommodating Pop when he is "good and ready." And ready means just the right degree of hunger pangs. No sooner, no later.

Around 5:45, last evening, I called everyone to the table for dinner. But as usual my dad just sat in his chair and would not budge, looking rather distraught like he was thinking "how am I going to manage this? I'm not at that perfect degree of hunger yet." Ignoring his decision to not come to the table, the three of us sat down to a very nice meal of fried chicken, buttered potatoes, broccoli and a fruit salad, a meal that probably took me a good 45 minutes of preparation time. Half way into our dinner, Pop comes moseying over to the table eying our food and looking like he was wondering, "how come I wasn't invited?" Of course he had been invited 30 minutes earlier but did not remember.

I guess the months of built up aggravation hit me. Out tumbled a flurry of angry words as I reminded him that I could not be preparing individual meals for him all day long. Obviously I was not thinking, just venting because first of all it was ridiculous for me to unload on someone with a memory span of 2 minutes. Secondly, it was very rude of me to be reprimanding an elderly man who is not in his right mind, especially doing so in front of the rest of the family. But I was mad, spittin' mad and my tempter flared.

Observing my inappropriate melt down, my sweet, compassionate, equally rude husband (rude to me) reprimanded me soundly making me feel like a two year old and proceeded to fill my dad's plate. In his sweetest voice he invited my dad to sit down and partake, causing me to look even more like a jerk. In teen-age fashion I exited the table with a flourish, leaving my half eaten meal behind. Taking long, exaggerated steps, I walked out the front door, closing it rather loudly.

After licking my wounds for about an hour at Barnes and Noble Book store, I tucked my tail between my legs and quietly returned home. Pop, who had obviously completely forgotten the whole table incident was off getting his blue striped jammie top on, with buttons in random button holes and still wearing his blue jeans. Trying to avoid the topic with my husband I focused on the dishes in the sink.

After an appropriate time of sulking, my husband and I had a good chat, apologies were made and a very clear decision on my part regarding future meal times materialized, an epiphany that should have occurred last April; put Pop on a schedule! How divinely, supremely, brilliant!

As I sit here at my computer pecking at the keyboard it is 8:00 a.m. I walked into Pop's room where he was snuggled between the covers, greeted him with a cheery "Good morning" and raised his shade. With an equally cheery voice I bribed him out of bed with an offer of his morning tea. Tea being the miracle worker in every difficult situation, he responded in like manner with, "Oh, that would be very nice." 8:15 a.m. he is up and dressed and sipping his tea!

I don't have any idea why it took me so long to come up with this ingenious plan!