March Madness

The Dreamer and the Driver both have March birthdays. Over the years we’ve often celebrated their birthdays together as a family gathering. Memories flood my mind of parties. Eating cupcakes, high in the rice terraces of the Philippines, perched on the edge of the world. Gauze drapes turning the living room into a middle-eastern tent while girls feasted on hummus and lamb, or kimonos, chopsticks, and a low table turning the family room into a Japanese restaurant. A gaggle of Chinese teens eating spaghetti in Hong Kong. Lots and lots of fun memories over the years.

Tonight is March madness 2010. With two of the three daughters nearby, we decide to celebrate birthdays early. The table, decked with candles, is a mix of fine china and IKEA plastic reflecting the age span across decades. It’s Friday night, there’s traffic, and everyone is late getting to the house. At close to seven the four small gremlins are tired and hungry. The Dragon has Skyped in and everyone stops by the computer to chat with her before we hit the table and she heads to a volleyball game. Sticky fingers hug her through the screen.

Bug, beside me, howls loudly all through grace and then gets a stern reprimand from her father. “You don’t need to howl during grace. Get some food in you.” Almost instantly she’s engrossed in her plate and the howling ends. Ever the gourmet, she wants hollandaise on her broccoli and several refills of sparkling apple juice. Bear, the purist across the table, tucks in with equal vengeance but scorns hollandaise and sparkling juice. Jon Boy inhales carrots faster than either parent can get into his mouth until he’s finally willing to gnaw on a tough bread crust and give them a break. Food that missed small mouths piles up on the floor around the booster chairs and high chairs. Boy Blue, who ate enough lunch to satisfy an army, is drooping in his chair to sweet dreams of airplanes or FAY-GEE as he calls them. Our house, in the flight path of the airport, is this boy’s dream. Adult conversation bounces around the table. There’s a Mac vs. PC discussion on the male side while the women are busy feeding themselves and the kids. Main course accomplished, the Driver opts to put Boy Blue to bed before cake and cards.

Bug and Bear are excused to wash and play till dessert. I am clearing dishes when Bug, coming on three, grabs me in the kitchen. I kneel to her level. “Grammy, I have a terrible belly ache.”

I suspect a ploy but reply solemnly, “Oh, do you?”

“Yes, Grammy,” she says with blue eyes wide, “but I think cake would make it go away very fast.”
“Bug, whose birthdays are we celebrating this month?”
“Mine?”
“No, yours is next month. This month it’s your mom and Aunt Jessie’s. Don’t you think we should wait for cake till she’s finished putting your cousin to bed?”
“Well, I guess so, but cake would really help my belly ache.”

Back at the table, we present the cake, a favorite of German sweet chocolate. We're poised to begin but Poppa has a new camera and he’s fiddling with settings.

Bear, beside him, pats his arm. “Poppa, can we begin? I want cake and I’m not allowed to start till you pick up your fork.”

March madness. A maelstrom of activity and noise and food and chaos. Someday we’ll all sit quietly around a beautifully set table and nothing will fall on the floor. No one will howl through grace. It will be civilized and polite and adult.

No wait. This is our family. That will never happen, even if we're all adults, and by then there may be another generation falling out of the booster chairs.