Wednesday, January 17, 2018

My Sous Chef



There is no good double stroller.  Some allow similar sized kids to sit next to each other.  Some are "front and back."  Some have complex mechanisms for holding a baby carrier.  But, a double stroller means that you're outnumbered.  If Mercedes made a double stroller with chrome and jewels and gold wheels, nobody would steal it.  What sensible robber would take a chance at having to be responsible for two?!

Many people have never been responsible for the day to day maintenance, feeding, grooming, training, and breaking of children.  Those of us on the inside can tell immediately.  We see you vying for our attention, but surely you see that we're kinda busy at the moment?

"Where you work at?" Old neighbor man in his work truck stopped next to me and my stroller.  This was a double stroller side by side Trek modular system with optional bicycle attachment.  We started our walk with the oldest boy running and the two younger brothers sitting in the Trek.  After a few hundred feet, positions shifted and I had three boys in the Trek and our walk became my walk.  This beauty of a stroller had presta valve tubes in aluminum wheels, wind breaks, and a functional brake system. 

"ASU." I shot back startled at the intrusion but immediately embarrassed that I answered that way. This was in the days of teaching nights and SAHD days. Why didn't I just say, "Use your eyes, old man.  I'm on the clock."  instead, I used a professor job as the perfect shield for people criticizing my life choices.  Being a college teacher is great validation for someone already insecure.  If I just tell people that I teach college, being a SAHD won't seem so unconventional.

I puzzled about the old man while I walked the kids back home.  Surely he meant to disparage me.  Surely his greeting was a warning that I'd better get a real job so that these kids have someone to respect.  My obsessiveness requires that I assume others are constantly judging and I'm coming up short.  My experience forces me to consider others' points of view.  After all, I've had people say absolutely terrible things to me about being a SAHD.

I found my Rituals once I got home.  I didn't even know that's what they were back then.   Max skipped the nap with me, Ben and Sam went to their own rooms for nap time.  Diaper changes, drinks, snacks, little tasks that have order and meaning-Rituals.  In the kitchen, Max and I were making fried chicken.  At that time, I used only cast iron and my electric range for this process.  I started to relax and feel better once I was in my routine.  I had time to reflect with pride on the fact that I cared for three boys all day and I could still easily have a hot supper ready for Lauren.  I was "SuperDad" and Max's vocabulary was really..... wait. 

"Max!'" I scream-whispered down the hallway but I was too late, he'd already gotten to Sam.  Sam was already quite awake by the time I got there.  It was important for me to remember that Sam was different.  As babies, Max and Ben were easy going and actually eager to please Lauren and me.  Not Sam.  Sam and I had an uneasy power struggle that revolved mainly around a high chair and a spray bottle of water set to "MIST."  To this day, I can't think of another more humane option for trying to feed this little beast of a child.  "Don't make me turn this to "STREAM."

I tried to put Sam back down in bed but he wailed a protest that I knew he could sustain for hours, maybe days.  So, he got to come help cook too.  So did Ben.  He came up a few minutes later claiming that he'd not been asleep yet anyway.  So WE were cooking supper for mom.  No big deal, no problem, usually just Max and I did the cooking.  Hey if I can cook with one boy, three should be barely manageable, right?

Wrong.  Bisquik got everywhere.  A couple years later when I removed carpet from the living room stairs, I found little accumulated greasy snowbanks of bisquik near almost every toe board.  Sam got bored with piecemeal destruction and decided to escalate.  While I was finally getting the chicken into the hot oil, he took the box of bisquik to the recliner and bathed in flour and cholesterol.  By itself, that little transgression was adorable, hardly a bother.  I took a cute photo of him.

My lights went out, tv turned off, air conditioners gone.  I figured that I'd blown a breaker by cooking with my newly wired electric range.  No problem, I went to flip the breaker but I couldn't find anything tripped.  Instead, I saw a man in my backyard.  I was starting to piece it together, "He's a worker? Oh no!" It was my job to pay the utility bill and I was overdue. But I paid it yesterday...
"But I paid it yesterday!" I just needed to catch the worker!  Where was he? I ran out to the front driveway and got to him as he got near his driver's side door.  Max, Ben, and Sam were on their way down the stairs to me in the front driveway. 

"Can I help you?" This worker was already looking for a confrontation.

I thought, "Oh no, oh noooo, not an asshole. Not now." But I said, "Yeah, you turned off my power."

"Pay your bill."

"I did yesterday."

"Then it was late."  He drove off.  Somehow, I imagine him laughing maniacally on his way out of the neighborhood.

So.  I had to navigate the pre-hurt feelings of the electric company's bureaucracy and it had to be done within the most stressful medium invented yet-telephone.  But finally, after two VHS tapes of "the Wiggles" a new worker came.  When I watched the new worker open up my meter box, I realized that when the company "turns off" your power, they simply flip a switch.  I wondered in dollar terms how much the company had wasted on me that day.  Waste and inefficiency can really drive me crazy. 

The chicken smoldered, the smoke alarms rang, the children found more bisquik.  I had ruined a big pan full of frying chicken.  When we lost power, I didn't turn the burner knob off!  So what now?  I aired out the kitchen and threw acrid burnt chicken off the back porch.  This kitchen would take an hour to clean without kids and there'd still be no food.  Where are they?

"Dad, get a towel!"  Max has always taken on responsibility naturally.  He was so good at communicating to me when his little brother needed to be cleaned up.

But, Ben and Sam were with me.  It didn't make sense. I was worried before I saw the damage.  The fish room was flooded.  At the time, I had 300 gallons worth of freshwater tanks that I used for breeding and plants and a fun hobby.  Due to the power outage, my siphon-fed sump pump quit working.  The result was about 25 gallons of fish water in my basement floor.  I didn't start crying then simply because I was already crying about the stupid frickin chicken!

I don't remember cleaning it up at all.  It's funny sitting here trying to remember cleaning it and coming up blank.  I guess I did.

Lauren came home to an explanation but no food.  She fixed everything automatically.  She led and followed me simultaneously.
"Might as well try again, especially now.  I'll be your sous-chef." She's like that.


No comments:

My Blog List