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Indoor dining room, early evening lamplight. Mom gently holds Peter’s reaching hand beside a family dinner spread; Peter sits in his high chair, eyes wide at the food but hands now resting reluctantly on his lap.
Peter climbs into his chair at the dinner table and looks at all the tasty food set out. "I'm really hungry!" he says as he stretches his hand. But Mom gently holds his hand back. "Peter, we wait until everyone is ready," she reminds him. Peter nods and puts his hands on his lap, trying to be patient.
Same dining room under warm ceiling light. Dad has just sat, while Mom gestures approvingly; Peter beams, carefully spooning food onto his small plate, elbows off the table, pride sparkling in his eyes.
Peter wiggles in his chair but watches everyone settle at the table. When Dad sits down, Mom says, "Now we can eat!" Peter beams, feeling proud for waiting. He carefully puts some food on his plate. Mom smiles and says, "Good job, Peter!"
Indoor dining room, evening. Peter piles bright red tomato slices onto his plate, mouth excited; Sister leans forward giggling beside the shared salad bowl, a few remaining greens visible under warm pendant light.
Peter sees a bowl of salad with bright red tomatoes. He quickly grabs all the tomatoes and puts them on his plate. "Hey, Peter!" his sister giggles, "We like tomatoes too!" Mom says, "We always share food so everyone gets some." Peter puts some tomatoes back in the bowl.
Dining table under cozy yellow light. Peter slides the salad bowl toward Sister, offering tomato pieces with a proud smile; Mom watches from across the table, softly pleased.
Peter smiles and pushes the bowl toward his sister. "Would you like some tomatoes?" he asks kindly. Everyone takes a little from the bowl. "Thank you, Peter," his sister says happily. Peter feels proud for sharing.
Evening dining room. Peter races a blue toy car around his plate, fork rattling from the bumps; Dad beside him lifts a calming hand, expression gentle yet firm, steam rising from untouched food.
Peter brings his toy car to the table and zooms it around his plate. The toy makes loud noises as it bumps into the fork. Dad gently says, "Peter, toys are for after dinner." Peter puts his car aside and picks up his fork.
Indoor dining room, same warm glow. Peter holds fork and spoon properly, taking small bites from a neatly arranged plate; Mom across the table smiles proudly, elbows resting beside her glass.
Peter keeps his hands on his fork and spoon this time. He takes careful bites of his dinner. "That's better," Mom says, smiling. Peter finishes his food and grins proudly. "I like eating with my family," he says.
Dining room under soft evening lamp. Peter chews with mouth wide open, crumbs visible; Sister covers her giggling mouth, while Mom leans forward gently reminding him, an uneaten roll in her hand.
Peter takes a big bite and chews with his mouth wide open. Chomp, chomp, chomp! His sister giggles, "Peter, I can see your food!" Mom says gently, "We chew with our mouths closed." Peter tries again, keeping his mouth shut.
Same family dining room, candles flickering low. Peter sits upright, chewing discreetly with lips closed; Mom nods approvingly beside him, silverware glinting on the tablecloth.
Peter chews quietly and remembers to keep his lips closed. Nobody can hear funny chomping noises now. Mom nods and says, "Nicely done, Peter." He feels happy to learn new table manners. Everyone eats quietly together.
Dining room, after-sauce mess, overhead light warm. Peter holds sticky fingers against his shirt, timid; Mom extends a white napkin toward him, gentle smile, sauce-specked plate and tipped spoon in foreground.
Peter wipes his fingers on his shirt after some sauce drips. Mom hands him a napkin. "We use napkins for sticky hands," she says. Peter wipes his hands with the napkin and smiles. "That works much better!"
Dining table, evening. A small puddle glistens beside Peter’s cup while he looks worried; Mom steadies the cup in his hands, demonstrating careful tilt, light reflecting inside the glass.
Peter gulps his drink and spills a little on the table. "Oops!" He looks at Mom, worried. Mom shows him how to hold his cup carefully. Peter tries again and takes small, careful sips. "I did it!" Peter smiles.
Warm-lit dining room. Peter leans forward with elbows planted on the table; Dad gently guides his elbows downward, smiling encouragement, steam curling from nearby casserole.
Peter leans his elbows on the table while eating. Dad gently moves his elbows down. "We keep elbows off the table," Dad says. Peter sits up straight, trying to remember all the manners. "That's better," Dad grins.
Dining room after meal, plates mostly empty. Peter blushes, hand over mouth mid-burp; Sister laughs behind her hand while Dad chuckles softly under the dimmed chandelier.
At the end of dinner, Peter suddenly burps loudly. "Peter!" everyone says. Peter puts his hand over his mouth. "Excuse me," he says with a little blush. Everyone laughs, and Peter promises to try his best at table manners every day.