January 9, 2010 at 10:46 pm Leave a comment

Today I had the brilliant idea that we should all eat together, in our kitchen, as a family. None of this feeding table nonsense, the boys are getting big, after all. I took out my trusty Trader Joe’s bag of frozen Dover sole, purchased on a recent trip through the hinterlands, and proceeded to turn the kitchen into a nightmare of eggs and breadcrumbs, splattered flour, potato skins, garlic peels, loosely affixed booster seats, ill-set and misaligned table with extensions extended, and then invited my unsuspecting kin into my lair. It is my talent to have the various components of a meal arrive more or less at the same time before my guests; but my equal and opposite talent to be every wife’s worst vision of a husband-in-the-kitchen. Amidst the tornado and the tears lay a pile of golden sole filets, sauteed to perfection, organic spinach freshly plucked from the freezer and microwaved just so, smashed potatoes with a hint of garlic. We are still – you see- at a stage where the boys will consent to eat almost anything with which they are confronted. So we sat, two boys in boosters, the smiling chap from the video below on my lap, smack in the midst of operation desert storm and ate like generals. Until the one true general on the battlefield ordered me and my compatriots in smell out of the theater so that she could restore order.

I went out and changed diapers, lifted boys out of dungarees and into sleepers, crawled around on the ground, made funny noises, sang If You’re Happy and You Know It (Levi will generally clap once or twice), until the fairer member of our command emerged victorious. The equation is probably thirteen or fifteen minutes of dining luxury, surrounded by about forty-five minutes toil on each end. Not an every night occurrence, mind you.

I find if we pursue completely ordinary days, attempt no culinary magic, visit no-one, keep schedule, we elders can remain primarily upright until the clock hits double digits. But these little adventures, tonight’s mayhem, or yesterday’s breakfast out a cinq at a local cafe, take a terrible toll later in the day. Big mama and I are wont to find ourselves catatonic well before the finish line, blearily juggling our speechless spawn through the varied paces of evening and eventually into the great potato sacks above.

Usually, hopefully, we are recharged by morning, after six or seven hours of precious sleep. We wake the boys or they wake us sometime between six and seven, and they greet us sweetly. Satch is closest to the door, and always stares up with a look that says “Oh! Fancy meeting YOU here? This is terrific! What are the chances?” Pablo, more often than not, is standing tarzan-like in his crib, looking groggy and half-crazed, until you catch his eye and the conspiratorial smile flourishes. (occasionally, though, of late, he’s been huddled in a ball, a passed-out freshman, leaving me to wonder what’s really happening in there after hours). Levi will quietly and eagerly await his turn on the changing table, sometimes bursting into fits of laughter at the antics of his silly brothers.

And then it’s off we go again.


Entry filed under: update.

A very short Levi video Fear Factor

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January 2010
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