Last night, the boys and I were chilling out in the living room just before bedtime when I had the most random childhood memory. I remembered that when I was little, my dad taught us kids to tackle him in hugs whenever he shouted "FAT CITY!"
I don't know the exact orgins of this Rasmussen tradition but I can guess. I remember my dad wore an old ragged Fat City cafe t-shirt that he probably received from my Grandpa Razz when he delivered milk to the SW Portland eatery. I'm sure one of us kids came up to him, just like Asher does to me now, and asked, "what's Fat City?" And the rest is history. I also recall that when it was basketball season, Rip City would often stand in for Fat City.
So I decided to try and pass on the tradition, right then and there. I told the boys I was going to shout Fat City and then they were to come tackle me in hugs. It kind-of worked. I had one very enthusiastic 4-year old, a rather indifferent 6-year old and a stuffed bear who came to give hugs whenever I shouted our code word. We did it a few times and moved on to our bedtime routine.
But I suddenly got how wonderful a large family could be and why anyone would want to have so many kids. Five little bodies showering you with love and laughter and hugs every time you shouted the words. I would have to say that it almost makes up for all that extra laundry and college tuition.