This title comes straight to you from the mouth of my five-year old daughter. Dear hubby and I were attempting to have a conversation about our Tuesdays during that all too familiar cusp of roughly thirteen minutes where he’s come home tired and late from work to three bathed and fed kids running on pure steam and myself, a this-side-of-sane person in dire need of adult conversation. Apparently said conversation was too loud for my loud one, and she felt the need to interrupt my chatter about the seemingly meaningless portion of my day involving my paying job to tell me, “Mommy, you’re interrupting AFV.”
Yes, our kids are occasionally granted the privilege of watching a portion of AFV (a.k.a. America’s Funniest Home Videos). Don’t judge. Tonight was a rare occurrence that they weren’t actually at the dinner table with us chatting about their days, too. With Daddy coming home late tonight it was too much to plan for that Cleaver family moment that we strive to have as often as we can where we’re seated at the table enjoying a nice well rounded, home cooked meal together. Those table times together are the ones we agree we’ll someday really miss so we do the best we can to have them as often as we can.
Alas, due to crazy schedules, the kiddos have more than seen their share of baseballs to the crotch, lame costume pranks, people falling, animals talking like humans, wedding mishaps, grannies dancing, and mullets aflame. It’s all American fun, and I’m not ashamed to admit that it’s funny (much funnier than the lame story I was attempting to tell my hubby apparently). After all, I watched this show at their age, and I’m okay. I think…like how I’m trying to justify why AFV was on our television?
At the mere uttering of my daughter’s critical words, I uttered to my dear hubby, “Well, I think I have a topic for this week’s blog.” Then, I passive aggressively mumbled something about the never ending game of unwanted catch the floor I was having with our baby and his sippy cup and my cold shepherd’s pie sitting there on my plate still awaiting my fork. Hubby has a propensity to keep me on my toes. This game is one we’re secretly committed to beating one another at. He tells me like it is, and I do the same to him. Honesty – it’s a good foundation. He corrected my grumblings, and with half of his tongue in his cheek he pointed out that my dinner wasn’t exactly cold and that he knew I’d “take poetic license” with that. Okay, it was luke warm. I digress.
Never miss a local story.
Well, I don’t know about you, moms and dads, but when my day is finally dwindling, and I sit down to eat dinner I wouldn’t exactly liken it to dinner. Again, honesty is good. So, here goes. It feels like ten bricks are lifted when you finally sit down at the dinner table to join your family who’s been salivating like a pack of hyenas in their seats for five minutes anxiously awaiting the vittles. Ten more bricks are lifted as you join a rushed blessing being ever so sweetly sung by a child with one of your eyes open and fixated on the other child that’s mocking the prayer singer. Ten more bricks are lifted when you finally lift your fork after you’ve cut up the kiddos’ food, gotten up four times to get the things you forgot to bring to the table, excused a pee-pee dancer to run to the bathroom, refilled junior’s cup, fixed the baby another item as he’s not happy with the chicken and would rather throw it on the floor that you just mopped, etc.
It’s simple math really. Now, just as the fork hits your lips thirty-ONE bricks are thrown at you, because baby has thrown yet another food option on the floor, you’ve realized the oven is still on, your loud one is being loud, the phone keeps ringing, the broccoli isn’t buttery enough for your eldest, someone is whining for dessert and you’re one bite into the main course, etc. Dinner can be more work than the actual meal prep was , and sometimes (if I am being honest) it can be downright far from enjoyable. That ONE extra brick leaves you dog tired, dizzy, and downright done for the day.
There. I said it, and I didn’t take poetic license in anything I said. It’s the truth. Cleaver dinners are few and far between, but when they happen they are simply as memorable as those that were more like the three ring circus performing nightly at our table complete with three kids under the age of seven. Come to my house around 6:00-7:00 PM, and see the dinner circus yourselves. It’s a grand old time randomly featuring things being hurled, terrible messes, meltdowns and freak shows (hmm…sounds a lot like an episode of AFV). Guess I’ll leave it to Beaver Cleaver and his fam to have warm, wholesome meals full of wholesome table talk. I know I’ll miss this chaos and all of the little and big interruptions someday, and my dear hubby will, too.