Eating Caterpillars

Families are full of compromises. With a family of toddlers this is most noticeable at meal time. There are the simple sacrifices like the cayenne pepper taking up residence in the deep dark corner of the spice cabinet. The bigger sacrifices come in the everyday struggle to eat and to feed the young.

I will admit right now that there have been those meals when in desperation an entire pork chop is speared and eaten like no civilized food should. The moment when corn became a finger food doesn't keep me up at night. Spaghetti... Or spaghetti sandwich? It comes with garlic bread for a reason. Even if I am eating like a human being... a silverwared, chair-sitting, napkin-using person, it is often at such speeds as to baffle the mind. Anyone who has met me can tell you that I'm in no danger of starving.  Lately the simple strategies I use to feed the kids has backfired and my appetite has become hostage to their imaginations.

Yesterday my little Cami insisted that we were in fact a family of caterpillars. She worked hard to control her irritation as I strode around the house on two legs, neglecting everything that we as caterpillars hold dear. She forgave me when my caterpillar voice came up lacking. As long as I called her 'my baby caterpillar' and answered to 'mommy caterpillar' we could continue a peaceful mother-daughter relationship. We're caterpillars, is that really asking so much?

Having firmly moved past my time as a caterpillar, I prepared to make lunch today. Fresh peas, strawberries, green grapes, chicken nuggets, and, most importantly, tiny rotini. Cami took one look and thought I was the best mom ever. "Thank you for making caterpillars for lunch mommy caterpillar." This is about the time I start searching the fridge for leftovers that sound a bit less like eating my own young.

I admit I rename a lot of foods to get my children well-fed. Apparently they're on to me and they have a few of their own. So here are the significantly less common and less appetizing names for food you may never want to eat again.
 

Creamy peanut butter... Blobby (Also, how you'll feel if you eat too much, too often.)
Vienna sausages... Baby doggies (Sound effects play a significant role as they whine and bark sadly, but much more quietly than regular doggies or hot dogs.)
Cooked peas... Little eyes
And my personal favorite, "Mommy, you got blood on my noodles." Spaghetti and marinara sauce.

Well, you get the idea. Add that to new flavors like fish stick lemonade or ketchup grapes and add a few yucks and ewws as they supervise my own lunch and you have the makings for a wonderful day in our toddler cafeteria.
It's these little compromises in life that build families, create memories and keep diets on track.

Sundays

We don't use alarm clocks in our house. We expect on Sunday, like every other day, to be awoken shortly after five o'clock am. We have a few hours in the morning of screaming. "I want to go to church." "Jacket please. Bye-bye please. Car please." Even the pleases aren't scream-proof.

The actual dressing of toddlers is a game, a chase, a workout and a general test of wills. I'm not sure how, but we usually win. Maybe it's unfair because we play until we win. Twenty-seven games to one, victory! This week we made an amazing and accidental discovery that we hope will revolutionize our getting ready process. They can dress each other! Mommy putting tights on Ava is a kicking, laughing, flailing terror. Cami putting tights on Ava is "thanks sister, thanks. Oh, pretty." The advantages of multiples becomes more obvious at this stage of life.

Dressed and armed with our quietest toys, pencils, paper, snacks, five little jackets and four plastic ponies, we are on our way.

To make it on time we leave promptly at lunchtime. We feed reluctant babies an hour early and the girls each get a tupperware lunch to eat on the drive. Yes, we do find the occasional shriveled grape or an apple slice that makes us wonder if it came dehydrated. A prehistoric looking piece of toast lurking under the back seat is worth arriving well fed, kids awake, and roughly on time.

We unload, something we often under estimate time-wise, and negotiate who holds whose hand. One of us navigates the parking lot with two babies twisting and craning to see all the Sunday morning minivan excitement. One of us has a grip on Ava and Bella with Cami hanging onto the other hand of her sister de jour. We select our entrance based on our ability to avoid water fountains, rooms that the girls could possibly associate with toys, that spot where once bubbles were blown, and things of that nature. We try to find a quiet side bench... One entrance, one exit. (Under the bench is a different difficulty all together).  If this all runs smoothly we are established for the first hour of church.

The first hour offers a variety of opportunities. One of our girls inveritably thinks she should conduct the meeting and exerts her efforts in that direction. Another believes there's a magical party somewhere in the building if only she can find it and the other is responsible for being so clingy that she sounds a warning cry if we go after an escaped sister.
We bring some toys, but everyone else's are somehow more fun. We bring snacks, but no one is hungry until the kid behind us is eating. Their pretzel sticks are some how vastly superior to our own. If we bring everything we might possibly need we won't use any if it. Everything we leave behind gives us the hope of a more smooth Sunday next week when we imagine that we'll remember our forgotten church perfecting toy or book.

No matter how loud are kids get we can't leave the meeting. Taking one crying toddler into the hall causes a cascading echo, avalanching behind me into five screaming toddlers. We have to stand, or rather sit, our ground until the hour is up.

The second hour presents its own challenges. The gap between the first and second hour grows into an endless chasm in the mind of a three-year-old and their parents. It's just long enough that all semblance of order is lost and by the time the next class finally starts toddler anarchy reigns. As everyone is seated for the next class my munchkin mayhem mounts. Class in full swing finds my little ones struggling between a desire to entertain the masses and making sure mommy and daddy stay within shouting distance.

The final segment of church is in a small enclosed classroom with snacks and coloring. By then, exhausted from the surge of irreverent energy, my children submit, perhaps partake in a short nap, and come out with smiles and hugs.

We are a mere mile down the road before the rebellion begins, "I want to go to church. I want to go to see my friends." Crying optional. "No one is there right now they all went home. Only seven more days Sweetheart."

pictures courtesy of amazing nursery leaders