Dog Food Day

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My hysterical children have worked up a bit of a comedy act. Yesterday at a wonderful party thrown by Pops (stuffed peppers were okay...that's why I only ate nine), my boys waited until there were a group of people around who had no idea who we are.

"My mother told me that I was an accident and she really, really wanted an abortion," Jake said.

I watched the jaw of a woman hit the floor.

"You know what day I hate most of all?" Sam asked. "Dog food Wednesday. If I eat another can of Alpo I'm gonna puke."

Yesterday was the first time I listened in on their polished routine. I guess my wife had heard it before. The women leaning close to our table had never heard it.

"I hate when he lines us up in the driveway and throws basketballs at us," Jake said. "I'd eat six cans of dog food if I didn't have to take a ball off the face again."

"Yep, yep." Sam said. "That is bad, but not as bad as when they tied us to the car and told us to keep up."

Finally I laughed, and the woman eavesdropping was able to relax.

And yesterday before the party I was having a conversation with a guy I've known since I was 3 years old. We agree: it's such a weird transition into this stage of parenthood.

Our kids are now stealing the show. They are the life of the party. We are watching to make sure they behave, instead of us being the one's who are watched.

I can't get used to it.

The expertly made food was served.

"Get something to eat, boys," I said.

"It's not my day to eat," Jake responded. "Last time I ate on a starvation day you beat me half to death."

The woman raised an eyebrow again.

"Really?" I asked. "You're buying this shit?"

Dog food day.

If only.

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