Saturday, June 12, 2010
Voyage - Day 9
It all began so innocently, a well cooked meal, full of brain developing nutrition...and love (I always put in the love.) Fresh green beans, real mashed potatoes (not the kind that come from the steam-bag thing, not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just saying,) swiss steak with homemade graby (it's graby because Aidan's alphabet did not include v's until he was 6, he felt that v's were pretentious and superfluous.) ...oh, and biscuits. We sat down to dinner, and the normal chaos ensued; it's like a nomadic band of auctioneers, who also happen to be starving, have stumbled upon the ultimate Vegas buffet. After the sheriff and I restored some order to the town, you know, reminding them that the food does it's best work when it's actually inside them and not flying through the air, either because they lack basic table manners or because they flicked it at another offender as a way of reminding THEM that their tables manners were lacking. Dinner is the ultimate test of parental listening skills. If you're diligent, you can divine important information about your children's development. Of course, that is, assuming you are able to filter out the torrent of completely irrelevent information and the other ridiculous verbal diarrhea which may or may not have some deeply camouflaged nugget of truth buried therein. Sometimes, an account of a playground scuffle is just that, the equivalent of a good fishing story, meant to entertain, and not a revelation. Other times, it's a priceless glimpse into their psyche, a momentary lapse in the defenses, a brief opportunity to scale the walls and see what's really inside the tree fort of their little boy minds. And frankly, sometimes, I just wish I hadn't looked. Meanwhile back at the ranch, we are eating the wonderful meal I had prepared, and I somehow manage (for those who know me, you'll realize the forthcoming incident is not all that uncommon for me....) to dribble gravy down my boob; ON THE INSIDE OF MY SHIRT. What's a mom to do? I had to wipe it! My two oldest sons were instantaneously grossed out. Noah crops up with this little gem, "Mom, they're not boobs, they're called BREASTS." Ethan decides that now is the moment to share a story about Bible class and the Breastplate of Righteousness. Aidan, however, wins the prize for this week's most interesting dinner discourse...and I quote, "well, I prefer to call 'em 'CIRCLES OF WONDER'." My husband choked, and he wasn't even eating, my eyes just got round...we weren't quite sure how to proceed. Aidan just gives my husband his fist, for a victory hand pound...I think we've all had enough dinner.