Some Day, I'll Eat in the Dining Room

It is May 21st and I realized, I have not eaten in my dining room since Christmas and not because we haven't had celebrations or because we haven't eaten. 

Some time between December 26th and today, my dining room table was commandeered to house decorations and cards and the Christmas loot that had yet to be carried off to children's rooms, lost or broken.  That situation lasted about two weeks until school started back up when kids then began using the formal table as a spot to map out projects and leave book bags, papers to sign and sort magic cards for the complex decks they were crafting for tournaments for their dad. 

It then became the resting place for the tree, lights and ornaments because while I'd packed them up by myself, I absolutely refused to carry the stuff down.  I had visions of tripping sending countless ornaments cascading down the stairs shattering and I just vowed I would not do it.  I had enough strong backs that this type of wife/parent potential martyrdom was unnecessary.

Another month passed.  The Blizzard hit, and the dining room became coat, hat, scarf and mitten central, along with a decorative laundry basket filled with shoes.  I didn't have the heart to ask people who had shoveled for a week straight to exhaust themselves yet again so I didn't bring it up. Then valentine projects consumed the room, followed by several projects including a giant clay hot dog, a report on thunderstorms, multiple practice quizzes of multiplication and the state capitals and the tax documentation. Our accountant said the printed enlarged photos of the giant hot dog weren't deductible. 

The Christmas decorations also mind you, were still in their packed boxes in the dining room.  Having pointed out that we were past Ash Wednesday, I proclaimed that all stuff from Advent must be properly stored before Easter could occurr.   Everyone laughed.  Two more weeks passed.

As a kid, it was always a big deal to eat in the dining room. You had to mature to be able to be granted access. Otherwise, you were on the card kid table on special event days. The dining room was sort of off limits to the chaos of childhood. Everyone knew this. But my home seems to have no verboten places; childhood permeates everything which is why I find magic cards in my bathroom when I'm brushing my teeth.

Then, one fateful evening, we were playing hide and seek and my toddler daughter was hiding behind the box with the artificial tree but she was carrying a sippy cup that split open.  The threat of orange juice making everything a mess resulted in a massive movement to get the stuff downstairs.  If I'd have known, I'd have spilled juice myself much earlier in the calendar year. 

But nature abhores a vacumn and thus my kids promptly stocked the table and room with their backpacks and musical instruments.  Easter hit but we'd cooked on the grill and so we ate in the kitchen to allow the grilled lamb and bunny chocolate to be eaten with little lag time.  Baskets were dumped on the dining room table.  The rest of April was filled with softball equipment for the start of the season and the obligatory essays for various last chance to grill you assignments in chemistry, history and social studies and a second wave of magic card decks plus a stack of comics bought with birthday money.  We got to May.  I thought we'd manage by First Communion, but with the SAT that weekend, we were barely able to manage dinner. 

So yesterday, I cleared everything off.  I didn't say anything.  My youngest daughter was the first to notice and immediately sat down to begin drawing.  "On paper!  On paper!  On Paper!"  I insisted and grabbed a cloth to wipe up the damage.  Two other children, similarly inspired, grabbed the art box and began a massive project on the now Tabula Rasa.  But I cleared it off again.  I promised myself, with God as my witness, I'd make it so we could eat at that table again.  That night, when I came back from a quick errand to get milk, I found my children eating dinner my oldest son had cooked on the grill.  The dining room was bare and clean. There were chairs. Our kitchen table was covered with comic books and magic cards and homework and the art box and papers and brushes. 

Guess where the kids were seated?

Remotely possible

The other day, I felt so stinking clever. I'd hid the remotes to the tv and locked both sets out such that no one could turn on the televisions without my help. I'd even placed the controllers in a spot no one would look; my laundry basket of socks.

I'm not completely heartless. I gave a hint. I asked the children to mate some socks for the next day. Mind you, I have six children capable of managing this task and all I asked is for them to sort one pair for themselves only. If even ONE child had complied, they would have found the object of their collective hearts desire.

So homework and music and dinner and reading and bath time passed without the tv for competition. I didn't miss it but I did relent when everything was done for the olders and allow some to watch "Avatar" and "Phineas and Ferb." That night, I crashed a bit early for me (10:30) and this morning, the remote I had surrendered to the olders was no where to be found. Since the tv hadn't been on, I didn't notice it missing until the toddlers cranked up Sprout TV and I went to lock them out. The olders had already gone to school.

I started looking. It was not on the main floor. It was not in the basement. I had no means of locking out the cartoon channel because I couldn't find the remote. I smelled a rat. So I started looking in the places they'd stash such a treasure, under the couch, in a toybox, under a pillow in their bed. I searched and searched and searched.

But these children are mine, and so they think like me. When my kids got home, I asked where it was and my crafty daughter giggled. They put the remote in a place I'd never think to look if putting myself in their place.

She pointed to my laundry basket of unmated socks.

Einie, Mienie, Miney, ...where's Moe...

Einie...

Because we take two cars, head counts are always dicey things. Today I discovered my second son had lagged on getting dressed. I was just about to head out when he showed up dressed for mass, and thus I did a quick text message to make sure I wasn't leaving behind any non sentient beings when we headed out the door. Then I made a run through of the house to double check.

I am haunted by the story of my uncle being left at mass to walk home because his parents took two cars.

Mienie...

Yesterday, my kids helped unpack the car and it was raining. So I made several soggy trips and begged the children to get their things. Putting the baby in the high chair and beginning the process of serving snack, reminding people to put away their things and preparing for homework, I did a head count...where was cupie doll?...

I look outside. Cupie doll is busy splashing puddles. She has taken off her shoes and is wallowing in the glorious rain and mud. The doors to the car on every side are open, allowing the car to experience the same joy as she.

Miney...

My children are the masters of hide and seek on Sunday when I demand my weekly child tribute in the form of one hour of cleaning. Putting on "Enchanted's "Happy Working Song," does help though, as do props.

One daughter will happily scrub all the bathrooms if offered a pair of plastic yellow gloves. My second son willingly weilds the swifter mop. The oldest can be told to vacumn a floor and does it. What happens though, is after I've given out specific tasks,some of the kids view these as the maximum amount necessary to return to DSland or Civ IV or Pokemon or whathaveyou...no...I want my sixty minutes.

I have explained why I need this time before...with exponents and time management, with bribes of bonus allowances for the best worker, and even treats of ice cream on Sunday...and with threats of making it 2 hours if I fail to get my one...still, I was unprepared for the lengths to which one of my children went to ensure she could avoid work.

She is the quiet one. The one who in games of hide and seek can throw a cloak over herself and not be seen. She created a cave. A cave in the back basement. A cave complete with a bean bag pillow, a night light, her DS gameboy, easter chocolate and her. I admit, after combing the house three times, I failed to check behind the stairs of the back basement, though I did search the back for stragglers over at the comics stash...she must have held her breath when I returned a second and third time.

After twenty minutes of increasingly serious searching failed to find her, I felt a slight panic.., I began calling. I summoned the children and they began calling and searching, checking closets and beds and bathrooms I had checked before.

Moe

But a two year old can find anything she wishes. Cupie doll loves playing with her older quiet sister's gameboy, so she naturally went to the back basement, pulled back the covers that made the cave such a lovely hiding place and muscled in a spot on the beanbag with her sister and started poaching the foil wrapped chocolate eggs. I might add, she doesn't bother with such pesky details as unwrapping chocolate. That's a waste of time one could spend chewing chocolately goodness.

After dinner that night, I even peeled a few chocolate kisses as a reward.

Some may have noticed I've used a few older pieces and the tone has been less light as of late. There is a reason.

We are execting our ninth child, a son. This news, while joyful, has been a bit overwhelming to all of us. We also know that he will have Downs Syndrome, but what that will mean remains to be seen. The process of testing and waiting for results has cut into my energy to write and craft and maintain this blog, as has preparing for the Erma Bombeck conference this weekend. I will try to return to my normal chipper sunnier self and if you see that the chocolate for your brain is running more dark than milk, drop me a line, it helps for feedback.