Despite the repetition of each Sunday's events, (the instruction, the disobedience, the correction, the even stronger correction, followed by short-lived compliance which eventually gives way to disobedience, followed by my frustration, furious correction, and a pre-emptive one for good measure) what occurs in my house every Sunday is proof that children can only remember up to 6 days. Like Bill Murray, this is my perpetual Groundhog's day.
But this past Sunday, I was determined to change fate. Olivia hadn't woken up yet, and I figured the best way to keep quiet 1 boy who decides it's his job to control the remote, 1 boy who can't whisper, and 1 boy who instigates anything he can, is to shove food in their mouths.
In a pre-coffee stupor, I fumbled around the kitchen searching for something... anything, that would keep me from having to say, SHHHHHHH! every 30 seconds. I spied some left over cake from Cooper's birthday and invented the excuse that since this fine Sunday morning was Sheri's birthday, I would give them some "used" cake. Somehow, I managed to rationalize this as a perfect mix of spoiling the kids a bit, while at the same time, helping my wife by clearing out the refrigerator. Besides, it would keep them occupied long enough for me to take advantage of first-ever Sleeping Beauty and take a quick shower.
For the most part, it was a success. I was now clean, Olivia woke up in a good mood, the boys were all fed, and had somehow managed to stay out of trouble despite being hyped-up on sugar. It wasn't until 15 minutes later when I heard the strange noise of dog-tags tracing the floor, tongues slurping up the stairs and the cutest call of, "Da" as my little girl was searching for me.
When I poked my head out the bedroom door, I was greeted by a giddy little girl, squealing with delight as 2 dogs licked at her frosting covered hands. With a reaction time faster than my college-day reflexes, I managed to keep my pants from the laundry as I picked my daughter up, holding her at arms length, unable to cradle her in the cake smeared pajamas. Trying to stifle a laugh, I called in backup.
Following the trail of cake crumbs that the dogs were gobbling up now that the frosting covered fingers were out of reach, it didn't take us long to realize that although we fed our 3 boys, neither of us fed our daughter!
Undeterred, she wrestled a chair out from the table, pushed it over to the counter, climbed up and enjoyed a breakfast buffet of cake in a still-open Tupperware container. A quick calculation of the pieces left, minus the pieces served, indicates that she ate 2 large pieces of cake.-- more than any of the boys.
As Sheri's thoughts turned toward worry that Olivia might have an upset stomach, I became excited, realizing that with 4 self-sufficient kids, I can almost taste freedom again. At last!
Of course, there's still the issue of potty training, but, one can dream, right?
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