My wife and I sat and enjoyed talking, not really paying attention to anything but each other. Without any warning, the father at the other table yells, “No we can’t take it home! We can’t save every single piece of paper you kids draw on!” This guy was pissed.

At the time, my wife and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. We spoke later about how cruel the father was to the little kid. What does it matter? It’s a piece of paper, etc. etc.

Now, ten years down the road and with five kids of my own, I can understand the guy’s frustration. I don’t condone the way he handled the whole thing, but I have felt his pain. In all honesty, the table next to our bed has but one drawer and it is filled with drawings and scribblings from our kids. Every once in a while, the herd gets thinned, so to speak, and I start to fill the drawer up again. Many times, I tell the kids, “That’s a good one. Go put it in my drawer for me, will ya?”

So, the Good Dad Trick for today is: Embrace The Chaos.

What the hell does that mean? It means that life with kids is not life with adults. Everything is new to them, everything is exciting. They want to take it all in and share it with you. YOU and your approval mean more to them than a dump truck full of ice cream.

To you it’s a bunch of scribbled on papers. To them it’s a masterpiece – one that will be forgotten, most likely, by bedtime. Take it all in, tuck it away. Build those kids up. What they do is special, so let it be special for a bit. And sometimes, when the special is worn off, you can pitch it.

I am a big believer in building up our kids, encouraging them, engaging them in the world around us. Even when the ridiculous comes home to roost, I try to find something positive to say.

Here’s an example. Last Tuesday we held primary elections here. I survived quite a day at work and came home to the usual active household. We had to go out again at 7 pm, so dinner need to move along. I had a morning meeting to think about and I really wanted to practice my piano that night. I had a lot going on.

My wife stood with our littlest girl in the kitchen and told me that Ella had finally made a decision on who to vote for. Who? I asked. Washington, Ella said – dead serious. My wife told me that our girl had narrowed it down to Washington and Lincoln, but had opted for Washington in the end.

I wonder if that guy in the restaurant from ten years ago would have blown his top about that one. I wonder if, to him, elections rank higher on the “serious scale” than crayon drawings. Or I wonder if he would have just told his girl “Good job” like I did.

Embracing the Chaos doesn’t mean letting everyone run free and act like hooligans. As fathers, we’ve got to lead our families, knowing when to rein in the inmates at the asylum and knowing when to let them run free.

After ten years at this Dad job, I’ve calmed down quite a bit. Everything will not be put away every night. Every book will not be shelved before bed. Every question cannot be answered before sleep. I know these things now.

I also know that the world looks a whole lot different when you are 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 years old. It’s not important that we have the restaurant artwork twenty years from now. What is important is that we accepted the gift graciously in the first place.

But this soup experiment nearly ended my turkey-lovin’ career. Don’t worry about the specifics. Just know that we host Thanksgiving at our house a few days after the actual Thanksgiving Thursday. To accommodate the crowd, we decided to roast up two turkeys, one the day before and one the day of the feast. The bones of both ended up in a giant stock pot on the stove, simmering away amongst celery, carrots, garlic and all the passed-over dark meat from the two gobblers who graced our table.

The house smelled like turkey heaven. Everywhere I walked, I was enveloped in a mist of turkey-goodness. It seemed that my love of November’s fine feathered friend could be drawn out across months to come with this concoction of deliciousness that would be ready for freezing in serving-sized portions in just 8 short hours.

The smells wafting out of that pot were just to get us hooked. Sure, come on over. Try it…you’ll like it. Straining the broth should have been my first clue that something was amiss in turkey-land. I can only describe what came out of the bottom of that pot as silt. But we gobbled on.

Stripping the bones, while an easy task of manual labor, proved to be an anatomy test. Do we want to eat this part? How does this look to you – too dark? Too game-y? I can carve a turkey with my Black and Decker electric knife and create a Better Homes and Gardens plating experience. Getting down to the bare bones of dear old Tom, however, required more caveman than I thought I had in me.

We cut the meat into small, soup-enhancing bits and added it to the broth. The picked-clean bones went into the trash. I did feel some satisfaction in finally using “the whole turkey.” My wife took a sick pleasure in telling me that the marrow of the bones cooked out into the broth and made it more flavorful. In the past, when I had thought about making soup, or being more responsible and using the whole turkey, I had never considered the “marrow.” I hope everyone will forget about the marrow for Christmas and for all holidays to come.

It was late and we were tired so the assembled soup base went into the fridge to be portioned out the next day. Apparently our fridge is some sort of food-altering laboratory, capable of changing ordinary foods into gelatinous goo overnight. Think Jell-o, about six inches deep. Now imagine it a deep brown color with bits of meat suspended here and there. Now add a frothy mocha-colored foam to the top. This was the result of our hard work? This is what we would put into freezer bags and eat on cold winter days? Reheating this could only result in the Health Department bursting through our front door, disinfectant in hand, wearing those yellow haz-mat suits.

To quell my churning stomach, I figured I would stir up the “soup” and then bag it up. Do you have any idea what gelatinous goo sounds like as you turn it over and over with a giant spoon? The grossness of the sucking and plopping sounds were rivaled only by the immense effort I had to use to stir everything together. Only when I started ladling 14 cups into each freezer bag did it hit me. This would be dinner one night. As I filled nearly five bags, I realized we’d be eating this Frankenstein more than just one night.

Nearing the end of the first-ever turkey soup endeavor, three of our five children let me know that (a) that soup looks gross and (b) they would not be eating that. More for me, I said hoping that, once my wife gets her magic culinary skills on this mess, turkey bliss will once again reign throughout the house for parents and children alike.

Until that time, I’m going to think something that doesn’t have bones. But not Jell-o.

The pumpkin farm cited in the article is about 40 minutes from here. I drive by fields every day that are still in the ground unharvested. Not good.

What does this mean to us as Thansgiving pie eaters? It means a lot of pushing and shoving at the markets for what little pumpkin is available. It means clawing and grasping for any can of pumpkin you can get, including those that are dented, or have torn and missing labels – the cans which are typically shunned. Oh yes, you who have for so long mocked the malformed cans of pumpkin each holiday season, now you will come crawling back, begging forgiveness and hoping to bring just one ugly can home.

This also means that when the family gathers round for dessert after the giant Thanksgiving meal, a slow cloud of disappointment will descend on the eager faces as they realize there is but one pumpkin pie for all, rather than two or even three. The pretense of the loving family unit flies out the window when Junior is battling Grandma for a slice of pie. Oh sure, there are other options for dessert. But come on! It’s Thanksgiving. You know that if you don’t get your ample slice of pumpkin pie with Cool Whip dolloped on top, it’s just another Thursday featuring a big meal.

You’ll wonder “How did this happen?” as you watch your Aunt slip down the hallway to the bathroom, having secreted a piece away under her shawl. You never really liked her anyway, but to think that she would steal a piece of pie and hide away to scarf it down is just a bit too much. Now you understand why she only sent you homemade bookmarks for your birthday every year, despite the fact that she seemingly drives a new Cadillac to every family function. Oh, the hypocrisy!

Didn’t anyone else learn anything from the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special? Didn’t anyone else feel Peppermint Patty’s shame after she ranted about the inadequacies of the meal Snoopy had prepared? Didn’t anyone else’s heart melt as Marcie helped smooth things over and save the holiday?

I think I’m just going to sit back and wait for the Christmas spirit to kick in.

Now these are not true licorice flavor. For the real licorice experience, I recommend Young and Smiley black licorice pieces from Hershey’s (although I have a hard time finding them).

Until we get desk-side service here at the office (I envision something akin to the Cubs game. Snacks here! Snacks! Snack, mister?), these Crows are my go-to.

I am a bit conflicted over this whole ‘blog’ thing. Who could possibly care what I have to say? Who might take an interest in a writer living in the middle of a corn field?

But then I think about the writing I read online. Some of it is specialty stuff (running, photography), but some of it is slice of life stuff.

I don’t know where this will end up. Ultimately, I hope to use it as a lesson for my children to try new things and experience life. It’s also nice to use the web for something besides playing chess. Ha!