I'm done with dinner, Mommy

For the last week, Rachel has finished her dinner before we finished ours, so we unbuckled the strap on her booster seat to let her run around and play. She usually wants to climb up on our laps while we eat. I am strictly against this, but Drew is slightly more indulgent and hauls her on his lap a lot. To her credit, she's a lot more manageable than when she was a baby and we had to protect our placemats, plates, glasses and cutlery!

Last night we were alone for Shabbat dinner (Drew was in Seattle Thursday and Friday) and I helped her out of the booster seat. When she whined to be picked up I said, "honey, Mommy's not finished with dinner yet. You can play or you can sit in your chair but you can't sit on Mommy's lap until she's finished."

I felt guilty, of course, because I was reading a fantastic story in The New Yorker about Richard Daley (the son) and I didn't want to be interrupted. So, Rachel padded into the living room, picked up one of her small board books and brought it into the kitchen. "Scissors! Scissors!" she said, pointing to a picture of a bicycle. Then she tried to get me to pick her up and read to her, but I again said I had to finish eating.

So, she plunked down next to me on the floor and started "reading" to herself aloud, burbling happily all the time. I was so impressed that I finished my salad, announced that it was time for play, and so we went upstairs to the attic and threw balls around for a while.

To hell with the dishes, right? She's only young once...