North of Normal

#327

Dinnertime.

Okay, it's not like I didn't already imagine that dinner with four children under age 10 could be charitably described as an adventure. It's just one of those things, like true love or algebra, that you just have to experience to truly comprehend.

There was the near eye-gouging (Frog Princess). There was the chair peeing (Moira). There was the emotional breaking down (The Fertility Goddess). And all that was fine enough, but no one bled, incontinence happens, and all the tears dried up. It was okay, really. Not tragic. Fun, even.

Except . . .

Eight people at a table. With peas. I wanted to start a food fight. I needed to start a food fight. I was so totally not allowed to start a food fight. I'm an official grown up now. I'm an official good example now. I'm a friggin' role model for these shorties and that means I don't get to chuck spoonfuls of mashed potatoes at them. And that, my friends and neighbors, bites.

Lima beans to the eye: