Half Dozen

There seems to be something about a family with four young children that strikes pity into the hearts of many folks. Perhaps it is because my husband and look younger than our true ages, many people mistake us for early 20-somethings. They assume things, like: 1) we are prohibited by our church to use birth control, 2) my husband is military and these are post-deployment babies, 3) we're mentally challenged. Of course, non of this is true. But, none the less, we still get lots of pity.
There are benefits to the aforementioned pity. Before I get started, though, I want to clarify a few things. For starters, each of our pregnancies was planned. Secondly, we are not any of the following: crazy, overwhelmed, burdened, unhappy, or stressed out. We run a tight and happy ship, with well-rounded and well-fed children. Every night, we have dinner together as a complete family, our bathrooms have toilet paper, my children's clothes are clean, and they arrive at school on time everyday with their completed homework in hand. Lastly, we can afford them. We're not destitute, which isn't saying we're rolling in it cause if you've got $50K to give then we could use it terribly.
Despite all this, people seem to want to give us things. This can't be more true than when we're at some sort of family oriented party. For example, yesterday, Soren's competitive soccer team had an end of league season (we're faaaar from done with this whole thing) party. Each family brought some sort of dish to pass and the hosts provided the hot dogs, brats, beer and $1.2 million dollar home in Rancho Santa Fe to party in. We showed up with our veggie dogs, whole wheat buns, and fruit salad in a carved out watermelon. The Indian family on the team brought an amazing curry and naan. The middle eastern family on the team brought some sort of grain, fresh tomato, and bean dish and pita and hummus. The Hispanic family brought some salsa and crisp corn tortillas. All the other white people brought typical white people things. It was a great array of food, a good time was had, and I happily stumbled out of the party with 3/4 of a Corona Light under my belt.
At the end of the party, there was a huge sheet cake with chocolate mousse filling, gobs of frosting and a black and white soccer ball iced onto it. The cake was so huge that despite the 40 or so of us there, we couldn't even finish half. As we were leaving, the proper British hostess (more recently here from the Bay Area) offered to send us home with some of the food spread. We are so pitiful appearing that people feel the need to send us home with leftovers. This is one of the benefits of seeming pitiful, destitute, Mormon, enlisted and mentally challenged. When you leave foody parties, you often end up going home with yummy doggy bags.
I smiled to myself, imaging all that great food coming home with my poor, starving children. Lars rubbed his hands together, tongue in the corner of his mouth at the thought of the delicious curry and naan for dinner. If we were lucky, maybe she'd thrown in a couple of Corona Lights and a few Modelo Darks?
She comes out of the kitchen, smiling broadly at me and hands me a large tin laden with food inside. Lars and I hop in the car, and then safely out of sight, I take the top of the tin.
Cake. Half a frickin' sheet cake. No Middle Eastern grains with fresh tomatoes, no curry, no guacamole, or standard white people food. No beers even. Just half of a sheet cake meant to serve 80.
I suppose this is karma. After every holiday, I bring in my children's left-over candy to my barrio clinics in the inland where those kids don't have toothbrushes, let alone routine dental care.
Well, there must also be something about being pitiful that makes people think you need chocolate mousse sheet cakes instead of walnut-couscous salad with scallion vinaigrette. Go figure.
And, just now, I ate 2-pieces of it for lunch.