Not The Waltons

Every Sunday various combinations of Sister 1, Sister 2, Little Pea various other halves and I go to my parents house for Sunday dinner.  Mum cooks the main course and we take it in turns to make pudding, with varying degrees of success.  Every time I mention this to people they comment on how lovely it is.  I think they probably imagine The Waltons or some other sort of wholesome gathering.

This is my family though, and basically, what happens is a bit of chaos.  We all try to stand in the kitchen (which doesn’t fit more than two people – particularly when Mum is cooking) until we realise that this is a futile effort – we haven’t ever fitted in there so why should this particular Sunday be any different – and we start to spill into the dining room.  Last Sunday was no different.

I’d been unable to dress myself properly before I arrived, adding layer after layer – none of which matched – rather than swapping any of them for something warmer.  When I got there I discovered we were taking Little Pea to feed the local donkey and felt my layers weren’t sufficient, so borrowed another layer from Dad and added hat, scarf and gloves (none of them matched either).  Sister 2 arrived, looked at me and said ‘You look….homeless’.  I think this was a little unkind to homeless people, but feeling great about my personal style, we wandered to the donkey field.

When we got back and the migration to the dining room had started, Little Pea and I looked at books.  He was a bit cocky looking at the ‘baby’ books, naming each picture very fast.  I loved this though…

‘monkey, nest, yellows…’

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And then Grandad came to play with the finger puppets.

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He and Little Pea were having a great time until Little Pea got over excited and bit Grandad.  Grandad retaliated by pushing Little Pea away.  Little Pea fell over.

I intervened:

‘Grandad, say sorry to Little Pea’

‘He started it!’

‘Ok, Little Pea, say sorry to Grandad’

‘Sorry Grandad’

‘Grandad, now say sorry to Little Pea’

‘Sorry to Little Pea.  I’m not playing any more though.’

And he humphed off.  All was forgiven and forgotten though, as Little Pea decided he wasn’t going anywhere fast.

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And it kind of carries on like that…  So, not quite The Waltons, but I wouldn’t have it any other way :o)

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4 Responses to Not The Waltons

  1. This made me giggle, especially ‘…until Little Pea got over excited and bit Grandad.’ Maybe try serving dinner a bit earlier next Sunday? If you had already eaten by this point, maybe give him bigger portions? After all, he’s all growed up and knows his yellows from his lemons :)

    • thepogblog says:

      You have a good point. I will make the suggestion…although he does get his own little bowl of crisps before we eat, which none of us are allowed to touch under any circumstances, so he shouldn’t be so hungry he has to snack on his grandparents! :o)

  2. And I shan’t play any more – so yah boooo to him! 😠😬😡

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