This one's for Mika

Some people (I won't mention any names) react in amazement when they hear that in our house when I was growing up, dinner was a formal affair.

Every night in our dining room, established yet unwritten traditions were fulfilled - candles, china, linen, plates passed clockwise, yes please, no thank you. There were certainly moments of discord, but as my parents were lucky to be endowed with two (relatively) well-behaved girls, it was as close to a Rockwell painting as you could find in the 80's.

Then, a few things started to change. Sons-in-law started showing up, and a table that had previously been well-ordered experienced a bit of a coup.

First Keith arrived, and threw the seating arrangement into disarray. Since birth, I had sat to the left of my father and to the right of my mother, but now? Who knew. The new perspective was a bit disconcerting.

Then Scott appeared and showed flagrant disregard for the 'clockwise' rule. My father was left sighing at the head of the table, waiting for the potatoes to make their way around the wrong direction.

But these small infractions were no match for what came next: grandchildren.

Suddenly, the dinner hour was a madhouse: dishes flying every which way, upset wine glasses, forks discarded in favour of fingers, tears and tantrums. My mother gallantly kept up her efforts through gourmet multicourse menus and a well-set table: ironed linen napkins, the good silver, even introducing at the darkest hour heirloom salt cellars. But it was no use: the damage was done.

Welcome to our family dinners today. There are elbows on the table and there are fingers in the berries. Keith may be about to lick the cake-knife, and Scott may be grumpy because Dawson keeps kicking him. And Dad may pour Mom another glass of wine because it's the only way they'll get through the evening.