Football, Football, Milk!
My Alma mater Drake University played a huge football game yesterday, or at least as huge as games get in the realm of division I-AA non-scholarship football. It was #1 versus #2 in the rankings for their classification. The local media spent the last week giving the game a heavy dose of promotion. Tickets were $1, free for kids, with various concessions also selling for $1. We packed up the kids and headed for the stadium as I wondered, “what could go wrong?”
For starters it was about 40-degrees at game time with a stiff wind. It was also a night game, though it wasn’t warmer during the day. Yesterday was one of those magical Iowa days when the sun hides and the temperature remains steady all day and night, and only those of questionable mental propensity venture outside, especially with three small children in tow. Undaunted, we continued to historic* Drake Stadium with enough dollar bills in my pocket to make the misses wonder where I was the night before. I believe this was the first football game for all three kids, and if they hated it and made us leave early, I’d only be out a few dollars.
Since this would be more than a jog from car door to store door, we experimented with heavy winter clothing for the first time this season. Abbie wore her new winter coat that we bought at the end of last season, and looked good in it. The boys wore hand-me-down snowsuits since we failed to buy coats for them six months ago. They didn’t like their suits because they were a little small, or possibly because they were too stiff to move. Either way, the boys didn’t appreciate the way they restricted circulation.
After a long walk from the car to the ticket window, we discovered that a toddler can walk excruciatingly slow when your arms are loaded with 30 pounds of baby and baby-support gear. We selected our seats a few minutes before kickoff, choosing an isolated corner of the stadium where we could sit in the front row while Abbie runs back and forth on the walkway, and our children won’t bother anyone except those dumb enough to choose to sit near a family with three small children.
The plan was for Ellie to grab a $1-an-item supper for the three oldest members of our family, while I bottle-fed the two youngest. I propped the boys up on the blanket we spread across the metal bleachers, set the bottles in their mouths, and watched them choose not to eat. Our hungry little men who’d easily down 6-ounces at home stopped at 4-ounces, deciding to scream instead. I assumed they were cold, and did my best to comfort them, but they were determined to scream. Tory was especially inconsolable.
Ellie returned with the food, and we set about eating with one hand, comforting with another, and threatening Abbie with our voice. Abbie started wandering the walkway as planned, but she eventually wandered to the stairs and started climbing. I had to periodically set down my hot dog to retrieve her before she fell on the steps. I was also worried she might decide she wanted to commandeer that ball those men were playing with on the grassy field. I had hoped to distract her with a hot dog, but we didn’t have any utensils for cutting the hot dog into toddler-appropriate bites, and I had no intention of ripping a hot dog apart with my fingers while it was covered in ketchup.
After a few minutes of listening to Tory scream, we realized this wasn’t working. I wanted to at least stay long enough to “enjoy” my supper, so I finished my hot dog and downed my hot chocolate before packing up. The first quarter ended as we walked up the stairs in defeat, so at least we stayed for a fourth of the game. Speaking of defeat, my team lost 37-0, so I’d qualify the night as a rousing failure. The biggest consolation was Abbie enjoyed the stairs.
* Translation: “Open air.”
For starters it was about 40-degrees at game time with a stiff wind. It was also a night game, though it wasn’t warmer during the day. Yesterday was one of those magical Iowa days when the sun hides and the temperature remains steady all day and night, and only those of questionable mental propensity venture outside, especially with three small children in tow. Undaunted, we continued to historic* Drake Stadium with enough dollar bills in my pocket to make the misses wonder where I was the night before. I believe this was the first football game for all three kids, and if they hated it and made us leave early, I’d only be out a few dollars.
Since this would be more than a jog from car door to store door, we experimented with heavy winter clothing for the first time this season. Abbie wore her new winter coat that we bought at the end of last season, and looked good in it. The boys wore hand-me-down snowsuits since we failed to buy coats for them six months ago. They didn’t like their suits because they were a little small, or possibly because they were too stiff to move. Either way, the boys didn’t appreciate the way they restricted circulation.
After a long walk from the car to the ticket window, we discovered that a toddler can walk excruciatingly slow when your arms are loaded with 30 pounds of baby and baby-support gear. We selected our seats a few minutes before kickoff, choosing an isolated corner of the stadium where we could sit in the front row while Abbie runs back and forth on the walkway, and our children won’t bother anyone except those dumb enough to choose to sit near a family with three small children.
The plan was for Ellie to grab a $1-an-item supper for the three oldest members of our family, while I bottle-fed the two youngest. I propped the boys up on the blanket we spread across the metal bleachers, set the bottles in their mouths, and watched them choose not to eat. Our hungry little men who’d easily down 6-ounces at home stopped at 4-ounces, deciding to scream instead. I assumed they were cold, and did my best to comfort them, but they were determined to scream. Tory was especially inconsolable.
Ellie returned with the food, and we set about eating with one hand, comforting with another, and threatening Abbie with our voice. Abbie started wandering the walkway as planned, but she eventually wandered to the stairs and started climbing. I had to periodically set down my hot dog to retrieve her before she fell on the steps. I was also worried she might decide she wanted to commandeer that ball those men were playing with on the grassy field. I had hoped to distract her with a hot dog, but we didn’t have any utensils for cutting the hot dog into toddler-appropriate bites, and I had no intention of ripping a hot dog apart with my fingers while it was covered in ketchup.
After a few minutes of listening to Tory scream, we realized this wasn’t working. I wanted to at least stay long enough to “enjoy” my supper, so I finished my hot dog and downed my hot chocolate before packing up. The first quarter ended as we walked up the stairs in defeat, so at least we stayed for a fourth of the game. Speaking of defeat, my team lost 37-0, so I’d qualify the night as a rousing failure. The biggest consolation was Abbie enjoyed the stairs.
* Translation: “Open air.”
posted by Matt at
11:16 PM
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