The H Family:
He’s an attorney who actually likes what he does.
She’s a former physical therapist and stay-at-home Mom with plans to return to work someday.
Together, they have three beautiful girls that look something like their Dad and nothing like their Mom.
They are kind people with big hearts.
This Sunday, I stuck with a familiar menu: grilled chicken, rice and beans, sweet potato casserole, strawberries, and parmesan rolls. The part of me that loves to cook kept trying to add more side dishes.
“Maybe I could make that Brazilian cheese bread…I have the ingredients for a chocolate pie…Vegetables are not well-represented…,” I thought.
The practical, tired, on-a-budget side won out and kept things simple. I didn’t even have to worry about dessert. The H family brought a yummy, raspberry cobbler which baked in my oven as we ate.
Is it possible to get through a dinner without someone spilling?
I hadn’t even started to fill my plate when Jack (4) spilled a full cup of lemonade onto his plate, the table, the floor, and onto the little girl sitting next to him. I quickly cleaned up the spill, gave the wet girl one of Kate’s tee-shirts to wear temporarily, and filled another plate of food for Jack. For the rest of the dinner, Jack drank from one of Rock’s faded, old sippy cups.
Somebody ought to write a book detailing the fantastically naughty things little boys do when their parents aren’t paying attention. After all six kids ate dinner and ran off to play, Ryan and I sat with the H family parents, J and P, chatting comfortably at the table. Then, Jack came running into the kitchen to tell me,
“Mom, Rock is writing on things.”
Jack then ran back upstairs happily declaring to the other kids, “I told on Rock!”
I walked into Kate’s bedroom where the kids were playing school and found Rock (3) hiding in the closet clutching a green, dry-erase board marker. The tops of his hands were green and unfortunately, Kate’s adorable, pink, Pottery Barn bed spread had some fresh green marks on it. While I pried the marker from Rock's death grip and quickly crammed the bedding into the washing machine, Rock moved onto other forbidden activities. This time, Rock told on himself.
“Mom, I hurt Claire.”
I ran upstairs to find Claire (3) lying on the floor of Jack’s bedroom crying. Rock resumed jumping on the bed as Claire explained to me how Rock pushed her off. For the rest of the night, Rock was restricted to playing downstairs where he could be watched more closely.
In spite of the spills and shenanigans, a ruined bed spread, and the sticky lemonade patch on the kitchen floor, I’m glad the H family came over for dinner. It’s fun to spend time with people our age in similar phases of life. Both Mr. and Mrs. H have a gift for articulating an opposing point of view without being obnoxious or offensive. It’s a rare combination of strong opinions and tact.
Several mornings a week, right around 8:50 am, I drive our silver minivan to school and pass Mrs. H, driving her navy blue minivan away from the same elementary school our children attend.
We wave.
Sunday dinner gave us a chance to slow down, get out of the minivans, and catch up.
It’s nice to have friends.
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