I leave work a little late. My steps quicken as I approach the externally flameless Mommyvan, anticipating the evening ahead.
Traffic is slow and it seems to take twice as long to get to my destination. I escort one of my companions for the evening to the externally flameless Mommyvan, then another. We glide through the remainder of rush hour traffic; the occupants of neighboring automobiles stare blankly ahead, numb and oblivious to the high drama unfolding on the small screen inside our vehicle. The Incredibles have never been more compelling.
Upon our arrival at Chateau Cirque, two strapping footmen roll out the red carpet and sprinkle rose petals for my companions and I to walk on. Two more companions await us inside. As they all greet eachother, I slip away to my boudoir to change into something, shall we say, a little more comfortable. I have to be quick, though. The anticipation of the evening ahead is nearly too much for my companions.
Once again downstairs, I am briefly entertained by the soothing refrain of "What's for dinner?" quickly followed by the melodious "I don't like that" and the accompanying "I won't eat that" as I deftly prepare dinner, empty the dishwasher and gather lunch stuffs for the morrow. Obviously, the house servants have the night off.
My husband, The Czar leaves for a time to run an errand in a neighboring kingdom just as the Prince begins to complains of a tummyache. I explain to the young Prince, this is nature's way of saying "Dear Prince, you can not just squeeze cheeks whenever you feel the need to defecate. Sooner or later, that shit's gotta come out."
After pausing my dinner efforts, I ascend the stairs to draw the Prince a warm bath in the hopes of easing his tummyache. The Prince settles into the warm bath as my other two companions, Princess Punkinpants and Princess Sweet Pea play quietly in another room. In spite of my request for Princess Punkinpants to occasionally check on her brother, The Prince, I travel up and down the stairs several times in the next half hour to check on The Prince while preparing their meal. By the time The Czar returns home, The Prince is out of the bath, wearing his Superman pajamas (with cape) and a great big smile full of pride and relief that he had (finally) pooped on the potty like a big boy.
Dinner is served (using the fine china and good crystal, of course) just as the clock strikes 7pm, late for some perhaps, but it is still only 5pm somewhere. We are finally all seated, and dinner appears to be a success; two out of three children are actually eating most of what has been put before them. Background dinner music is provided by the NBC News, and the conversation fairly sparkles with gems like "How was your day?" "Sit up straight" "Eat your dinner" and "No, you can't have dessert until you eat your vegetables."
After dinner is long over, the clowns will set out their clothes for tomorrow, don their pajamas, brush their teeth and settle themselves into bed in a quiet and orderly fashion. They will, of course be asleep within minutes without any of the Marco!-Polo!-esque calls from their respective rooms... "Mom?!" "What?!" "Mom?!" "What?!" "Mom?!" until I ascend the front staircase to their room(s) to find out Buddy and/or Sweet Pea will want that one toy that they were playing with before dinner DOWN IN THE BASEMENT and could I please go get it for them right now because they won't be able to go to sleep without it.
So, yes, the clowns will fall asleep quickly and there will be none of that.
That is when I will gaze adoringly at my husband from my perch on the sofa... look deep into his eyes and whisper "are you going to watch the bug show, sports? Or can we watch a Law and Order... ? A Heroes, perhaps?" He will gaze back at me and softly say "Of course, darling. Shall we each have a bowl of ice cream, too?"
And we two will sit together with our bowls of ice cream and watch TiVo for an hour or so before retiring for the evening ourselves.
Just another scintillating evening of culture and variety at the Circus.