R: I worked on keeping the kids distracted with M once J had finished teaching her lesson, teasingly reminding her that bacon and green onions would be a great garnish for the mashed potatoes. She thought it was very funny, of course, because that was the fourth or fifth time I'd dropped a "subtle hint" over the course of the afternoon. James played indoor baseball in the library for about 15 minutes to the extreme peril of everyone in the room, including himself, and then requested to do "sock wars" in the living room.
Sock Wars is a simple game. We bring down all of my balled up dress socks, blockade the middle of the living room with the dining room chairs, turn up battle music from Star Wars, and whip socks at each other as hard as we possibly can. James and I got things started while M brought in Owen, and J worked in the kitchen on the potatoes and the chicken. It might have been a little loud at times, but both of the boys certainly had a great time. Owen laughed the hardest when I picked him up and pretended he was an airplane dive bombing his big brother, and James only tired of the game after George was hit by a few stray socks.
We set the table as dinner neared completion, and then I was tasked with cutting up a chicken leg for James while J worked on one for Owen. James complained about having to eat mashed potatoes throughout the meal and attempted to barter his way down to fewer bites. We kept him going with the lure of pie, even though he finished his chicken almost as soon as it was on his plate and was left staring at (to him) repulsive piles of spinach and potato.
I was thoroughly enjoying my dinner and had just finished wiping the barbecue-y goodness off my fingers when James suddenly lurched and threw up his attempted potatoes all over his plate, the front of his shirt, and George. Staying calm in the crisis, I ran upstairs to get him a change of clothes, then threw George and the soiled clothing into the wash downstairs while J cleaned up and James begged for cake. Poor M. I bet that she'd really been enjoying a non-Garlock meal before she had to watch someone vomit.
M: Owen is the easiest kid to please. No matter if his brother is throwing baseballs in his direction, socks in his direction, or he is falling off a step onto a wooden floor, all you need to do is raise your eyebrows or slowly push a book onto the floor and he will start belly laughing. I spent most of the pre-dinner hour doing just that, and occasionally throwing a stray sock back at James, who was doing some pretty hearty belly laughs on his own. They were two happy boys when we sat down to dinner.
I've been reading J's blogposts this last month with some serious yearning. When she invited me over for the night, I did a fist pump. No more overcooked and unidentifiable meat tonight. It was as good as I'd anticipated: Really juicy chicken legs, mashed potatoes made from real potatoes, spinach, raspberries, and I even caught a glimpse of apple pie for dessert!
We were about halfway through, me with a half an ear on the attempts to get James to eat his mashed potatoes, when I heard R say, "Uh-oh." I looked up. James was looking down at some yogurt on his spoon. I was just trying to remember whether I'd seen J bring yogurt out when he started to wail. Not yogurt. I occupied Owen while R and J cleaned and comforted James, all the while replaying a fairly recent episode that involved me holding a cool whip container for a whimpering and vomit-covered Moxie at 10:30 at night. Poor kids. Does this mean I've earned my vomit badge?
J: Sock Wars is a great game because it means all the boys in the family are entertained. I was running behind getting dinner ready, thanks to a late lesson, and was attempting to do too much at one time. I could hear the laughter and fun, kind of wishing I could join in, but powered through kitchen prep with the help of the dramatic John Williams score bellowing through the downstairs. (That music makes dinner outcome seem a lot weightier...the fate of these chicken legs hangs in the balance.)
We finally sat down around 6:30. I wished the potatoes were smoother, but I decided slightly lumpy was better than eating later. The chicken turned out great and everybody was enjoying together. I think, I think, I finally made something that M actually likes. She is far too compliant, but I know there are lots of foods she'd rather not ingest. Owen was chowing down on chicken and raspberries, which is always a good sign for a long night of sleep. James wasn't happy about mashed potatoes, but after I showed him the egg-sized portion on his plate and promised him apple cake for dessert he quieted. I peeked at him periodically and he was doing an AWESOME job of trying to take small bites without complaining, even though I could see he wasn't enjoying it. This is major progress for him and my mommy heart was glowing.
And then it all came back up. Aaaaaaand then some. George got the brunt of it I'm afraid, so into the wash he went (twice in three days--that's more baths than James has had recently). My proud mommy heart turned into melty-gooey mommy heart when I saw the shamed look in my son's eyes. He had tried so hard and instead ended up embarrassing himself. Needless to say, he got some cake. And the two hours away from George brought out his delightful, chatty self. He insisted on joining Mommy and Aunt M on our girls excursion to Hobby Lobby and gave M the grand tour. He was the happiest person in the store, which is saying something, because Hobby Lobby is a pretty happy place.
Perhaps the best part in hindsight was that there were no encores of the vomiting, because even though I've had my badge for years, it's not something I care to whip out.
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