Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Dinner with no pants

That about describes it, yes, it does. What dinner is like in this household now that football is in full swing.

Hubby and I like to watch our three boys practice during their Junior All American Football practices and since there are three of them on three different fields, the time goes fast. Even though we are in some semblance on that field for the five nights they are practicing, never does one son ever feel like we are there enough.

That is really pointed out to me every time I go over to watch the 9 year old play - it's as though he's always watching out of the corner of his eye to see if a parent cares enough to spend some time visiting his practice. He always waves, no matter where he is - in the middle of a huddle, supposedly listening to the coach, running. Always looking and hoping mom and dad will come and make him the most important kid for a few minutes.

So, there are a lot of adjustments that have to be made to the running of the household to watch practices - and we are by no means 'helicopter parents.' I feel like hubby and I are in a relay race most nights.

First, it's trying to maintain our health just to keep up with the kids. Since school started, I've been shut out of any morning exercise classes at my gym. The girls are really too heavy for that jogging stroller. That leaves night time to either run forever or go on the Concept 2 rowing machine aka torture device. Hubby and I take turns working out, packing supplies and driving boys to practice.

Girls are entertained at the field by other little kids, the snack bar and two fully packed back packs. We pack lunch boxes with a semblance of healthy food since dinner isn't eaten until 8:30 at night.

Dinners are prepared in crockpots, rice cookers, and bread machines. Or a bag of prepared salad is tossed on the table with a Costco sized bottle of ranch and dinner is announced.

There is a revolving mass around the table of sweating, stinky socked boys flinging uniforms off, taking turns in showers and shoving food in their mouths. Little girls singing at the top of their lungs from the sugar high of the redvines purchased 10 for $1 from the snack bar, or the cute little girls I can't say no to, hawking M&Ms to pay for their travel soccer teams.

Last night I didn't realize that the nine year old was wearing a shirt and absolutely nothing else to the dinner table until he bent over to put his plate in the dishwasher. I'd really prefer to eat my meals with people who wear pants.

Then, the middle one asks for juice and the older one responds that he "can't have any because it's only for kids who weren't adopted." Brotherly love.

We finally wrestle wringling children into bed by 9:30, make sure dogs have water, pay bills, clean up the kitchen, start another load in the wash. I have about 5 minutes to do something relaxing, like attempt to read my book, before I just throw in the towel and go into blissful sleep until the next morning at 4am for hubby and 5am for me, when our days start and the preparation for football practice looms on the horizon.

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