Inside the Circus

Howdy.

As I was sitting here, staring blankly at my laptop, wondering what to write about tonight a multitude of ideas came to mind rapidly. However, each was just as rapidly dismissed when I decided I didn't have enough to fill a post without having to think about it too much. And thinking isn't very high on my list right now.

Back in the before time, in the long long ago, before Matt and I had children we were absolutely horrible at remembering to eat. The whole three meals a day was a complete joke. Honestly, I cannot eat for a few hours after I get up without getting a horrible stomach ache so breakfast is a non-starter. While in college I would generally set an alarm 20 minutes before my first class so I had about 10 minutes to get dressed and 10 minutes to walk to class. The only nice thing, literally the ONLY nice thing, about the college I went to was the fact that the small campus meant it never took more than 10 minutes to walk to class. There are those who love it, but as far as I am concerned if South Dakota State University and Brookings, South Dakota were vaporized tonight it would suit me just fine.

I'll take that a step further and say I could do without all of South Dakota. What about Mt. Rushmore you say? Been there, boring as crap. The Black Hills! Been there, the forests in northern Minnesota are better. The Badlands!!! Been there, UGH!!!!!!!!!!! Now, you may very well love South Dakota and that's just super, really to each their own. But I got out and am never going back.

But I digress. Meals...

Anyway, during the day Matt and I would pretty much fend for ourselves whilst in college. Matt would graciously eat whatever the student union was offering without thought of what exactly he was eating. He even went for the chicken cordon bleu. (It tasted, according to our friend Anemic Dave, like "bleh") I would usually get a coffee to serve as all my intake during the day. We'd go back to our apartment and diligently go about homework, chit chat, and watching TV. Around midnight one of us would exclaim "Did we eat dinner tonight?" Then we'd both sigh and whine about it being time to eat again, and boil some spaghetti, scramble some eggs, or order a pizza. Lather, rinse, repeat. The only thing you could really count on was that we would have our nightly bowl of popcorn before bed.

Really our methods of eating did not change until our oldest son was ready to eat solid foods. Afterall, until that point he was just eating bottles whenever he got hungry and that did not require us to think about mealtimes at all. However, on the night that little Cooper turned six months old we decided it was going to start being all about the breakfast, lunch, and dinner in our house. I remember my parents telling me that when my older brother, Garth, turned six months old their pediatrician told them to take their son home and feed him whatever they were eating. For example, he said if my parents were having beer and pizza, so should the baby. Man, who doesn't miss the 70's?

Keeping true to form Matt and I ordered pizza that night. We looked at our beloved mini Matt and decided to go for it. He didn't have any teeth, but we figured what the hell. More or less we wanted to see how he'd react to having a solid piece of food in his mouth. I tore off the smallest piece of soft chewy crust and boldly went where no food had gone before. Results? He freaking loved it! Those deep brown eyes lit up and he was hooked. From there there was no looking back.

None of our children had any tolerance for baby food. Thank goodness for that too because those bizarre jars of various puree made my stomach churn. We always figured if it worked for the first one it would work for the others. All of our children got teeth very late, well over a year old. But that never stopped them from eating anything. In fact, Wesley could gum his way through an Iowa chop like a seasoned pro.

We fell into a routine with meals easily. True, I did not join the kids eating breakfast but they had it every day. Lunch and dinner always had at least one protein and one fruit, with veggies mixed in as best we could stand. (For real though, vegetables pretty much suck) We would all gather around the table for family dinners to discuss our day, plan our night, think about tomorrow, and remember yesterday. That was before we had a dinner table with 4 children aged 6 and under.

Call to mind if you can a painting by that idealistic bastard Norman Rockwell. Take a second to gasp at my referring to Mr. Rockwell as a bastard and stay with me. Can you think of another popular artist whose works are universally used to describe how unrealistic life is? How many times have you or someone you know said "It was as un-Norman Rockwell as you could get". When families are driving all over the country to get together for the holidays people are constantly saying "We've got this whole Norman Rockwell idea going, and it's never like that". Everyone knows the ideas the paintings evoke, but universally they are used in conversation to illustrate personal shortcomings. So ha, I stick with the bastard label.

We have not had anything remotely resembling a quiet sit down dinner in over 2 years. Now rather than having everyone pleasantly seated at the table ready and waiting for me to bring the food over I am standing at the stove top in a t shirt and pajama pants (maybe not, maybe it was a day where I had time to change into real clothes, but probably not) fixing up whatever the slimmest majority agreed to eat that night. Considering we do not eat corn dogs, macaroni and cheese, or french fries every night there are always extremely unhappy parties. An attempt is always made to placate the masses with reassurance that "Dinner is just about ready! You are not having a pop tart right now!!!" Finally someone stumbles through the kitchen just in time to see me putting the finishing touch on whatever the least objectionable meal of the day is and calls to the others

"EAT!!!! TIME TO EAT!!!!"

The house fills with the ravenous shrieks of 4 hungry boys who suddenly descend upon the dining room like hyenas to a fresh carcass. I'm sure that oil paint soaked jerk would depict the older boys pulling out chairs for the younger boys, pushing their chairs back in, and assuming their seats with their little hands folded in their little laps and little smiles on their little cherubic faces.

Ha!

Begin the pushing, shoving, yelling, crying about who does and does not want to sit by who. Who wants what color plate (thanks a lot IKEA children's dinnerware. I have 4 boys and they all want the freaking hot pink plate), who wanted milk though they demanded apple juice two minutes earlier, blah blah blah. Usually either Matt or I snaps out a quick "Sit down, be quiet, and wait for your food!" The courses are placed on the table and we're ready to dig in. Or something...

By the time we are done getting condiments you would never assume went with the main course, refills on milk, juice, water, extra napkins, extra forks, a second pink plate to appease the Murdoch contingent, a handful of paper towels to erase the evidence of the great milk rejection by the vengeful Killian, shooing the dogs outside, pushing chairs back in of those who are slowly pushing themselves further and further from the table, getting drinks for Matt and I, and cutting up food into safely edible bites for the younger boys, the older boys are done. And when they're done that's all folks. They are not staying for pleasant banter. The little boys devour their meals and also quickly ask to be excused. Then, with the hurricane style wake left in the path of 4 hungry boys surrounding us, Matt and I are left alone for approximately 3 to 5 minutes to eat our cold dinners.

Yay!

It's exhausting to say the least. And no matter how much they shovel into their mouths for dinner they are asking for a snack in 30 minutes tops. Hooray for family dinner! But darn it all we do it every night and will continue to do so. And no matter how crazy it gets, no matter how many pounds of pasta I wind up making when they're teenagers, no matter how many kitchen chairs get broken in the melee of choosing spots or how many gallons of milk are spilt it will be my favorite time of day because that is my family and we're as real as you can get. And I have the satisfaction of knowing that one day they will all be out on their own and Matt and I will be back to realizing at midnight that we have forgotten once again to eat dinner.

Kiss my ass Norman Rockwell, you wish your family could be like mine.