I don’t really
have hobbies, per se. In my mind, hobbies are things that require a hefty
investment of both money and time (neither of which I have in excess), and from
what I've seen, hobbies are, in many instances, a means to escape one’s family.
I suppose if I were to try to categorize my interests and label one a hobby, I
would have to say that cooking probably falls closest to that mark. It’s
something I enjoy doing, something I grew up doing, and I even did it
professionally for several years. So, when Thanksgiving approaches, I normally
start gearing myself up for an epic cooking marathon.
It was not to be
this year. We were invited by some very close friends to spend Thanksgiving
with their family, a change from the norm as we normally host the Thanksgiving
festivities at our house. My wife literally danced a jig at the prospect of me
not disappearing into the kitchen like some mad scientist, only to emerge days
later covered in rendered turkey fat and having bits of exploded cranberries
lodged in whatever facial hair had grown during my self-imposed exile. I,
however, was not as enthusiastic about the prospect. As the days crept closer
and closer to Thanksgiving, I felt more and more uneasy. Two thoughts weighed
on me with an almost unbearable persistence: first, I had no idea what to do
with myself since I wasn't cooking (Playstation 3 solved that pretty quickly).
And secondly, what would be the ramifications of unleashing my daughter in
someone else’s home for a major holiday? My wife had the same thought, so being
the resourceful, organizational mommy that she is, she did some research (I was
busy venting my frustration over not cooking with the latest Batman video
game). The answer she came up with was a bag of new toys from the dollar bin at
Target. The thought was that new toys would grab her attention and keep her
focus on something other than waylaying destruction on a very nice home in
a very picturesque Los Angeles neighborhood.
The car ride to
our destination was without incident. It reminded me of a scene in any random
suspense or action film where the protagonists are approaching their enemy’s
secret lair, basically unimpeded, and one says to the other, “It’s quiet…too
quiet…” and it turns out to be ambush of epic proportions. It was indeed an
ambush. People without children don’t really grasp the fact that young children
will get into EVERYTHING… especially your antique Peruvian charango because it
looks like a really cool guitar and it makes noise (I really do hope that it
isn't broken). And your piano because, hey it makes noise when you hit it. And,
look, you left your laptop open, let’s see what you’re working on and how it
can be improved. And, oh, what cute kitty cats you have. Oops, they ran
upstairs, I shall run upstairs after them and scare the bejeezus out of them.
Ooooh, there’s the kitty cats’ litter box…let’s look for buried treasure. And
oh, Mommy brought bubbles…I WANT BUBBLES, I WANT BUBBLES, I WANNA GO OUTSIDE. It
was an absolute nightmarish tornado of toddler and cats and pretty blue cat
litter and the accompanying musical score was performed by the striking of random
musical instruments. And we hadn't even sat down for dinner yet.
Finally, dinner
was served (really only about half an hour had passed since we arrive, but it
felt like days) and everyone took their places at the table. My daughter sat in
my wife’s lap with her own little plate of food placed before her, and we made
it about three seconds into the blessing of the meal before she burst into a
chorus of “I WANNA GET DOWN I WANNA GET DOWN I WANNA GET DOWN I’M ALL
DOOOONNNNNNEEEEE,” which burst through the moment of solemn quietness like a
rock through a stained glass window. I let out an embarrassed chuckle in an
unspoken attempt to apologize to the rest of the party, and my wife and I
exchanged exasperated glances. My wife then quietly carried our daughter into
the living room and busted out her secret bag of tricks. Our daughter plundered
through the bag like some little Viking who was ransacking an unfortunate
village’s treasure box. She found her prize and exclaimed, “I WANT PWAY-DOUGH”
as she pulled it from the bag and held it up in triumph like she had just won
the gold medal in crazy at the toddler Olympics. Why we would bring Play-Dough
into someone else’s home when we know what happens when it rears its mushy
little head in our home is beyond me, we might as well have brought plastic
explosives. When you’re two, what do you do when you have a handful of
Play-Dough? That’s right, you tear it into little bits and chuck it everywhere.
And what isn't launched around the room is formed into Dali-esque shapes and
deposited on the dinner plates of those who are attempting to enjoy their
Thanksgiving meal. My wife and I are used to living in chaos, but for some of
the other guests who hadn't spent a significant amount of time around our
daughter, I assume they felt that the experience was akin to trying to eat a
turkey dinner on an active battlefield.
Dinner was
enjoyed, for the most part, despite being peppered with interruptions from a
toddler who would crawl under the table at one end and emerge at the other
holding a randomly shaped chunk of Play-Dough which would then be shoved
towards someone’s face with the explanation, “I MADE DIS FOR YOUUU…EAT IT!!”
Everyone was a good sport about it and pretended to eat whatever concoction was
being thrust at them. We decided it would be best to take our dessert to go and
get our circus of rambunctiousness packed up and headed toward home so that
everyone else could talk about us as they enjoyed the rest of their evening. As
our host was generously packing our dessert for us, I slipped under the table
to collect the neon blue shrapnel that had been littered everywhere. I emerged
from beneath the table to our host’s surprise and befuddlement.
“Watcha doing down there?”
“Picking up bits of blue, I didn't want to leave it for you
to find later.”
“That’s very nice.”
It wasn't nice.
It was the responsible thing to do. And it was the least I could for the reign
of mayhem we unleashed at his family’s holiday gathering. Thursday was waning
to its conclusion, but we still had Friday to contend with.
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