I hate dinner time. 

And now you’re probably thinking, “Wow — that’s kind of dramatic. She must be on some kind of hormonal rollercoaster, because who hates dinner?!” 

I DO. ME. I hate it. Away from my house, it’s fine. But here, where I have to cook and clean … no. And if you don’t believe me, then by all means, come over and see for yourself.

Maverick started kindergarten this week and I finally feel like I’m getting some control over my life. I decided that I am maybe at the point now where I can start planning meals again and kind of cooking, although every night at dinner time, I swear to myself that I will never cook another meal for these ungrateful, horrible children. Then I have to remind myself that the oldest one isn’t even 5 yet so maybe I just need to alter my expectations a bit. And I do try, to alter them I mean, as I crawl around on my hands and knees picking up tiny bits of pasta off the floor. Did you know that pasta, if left to its own devices, glues itself with a mighty force to surfaces? Quinoa or rice, on the other hand, can be left overnight and then swept up like sand.

At dinner, Asher never ever eats anything at all. It doesn’t matter what I made, he finds a way to throw it on the floor. I’ve tried different tactics and basically I’m out of ideas, but after tonight I’m not sure I can handle cleaning spaghetti off the kitchen floor again because MOMMY LOST HER SCHIZZ. That is also exactly what I said out loud when Asher threw his plate like a frisbee. So if you hear one of my kids saying “schizz” you now know where it came from, and I’m sorry, but I can only pick food up off the floor so many times before I. Lose. It.

Maverick ate all of his food and used his manners so I told him he could have a cookie after dinner. Asher did not get a cookie because he threw his food on the floor and did not eat his vegetables … and … cue tantrum. 

Apparently Maverick felt really bad for his little brother because the next thing I know, he says “I’m done! May I be excused?” I nodded yes, and he jumped up and yellispered “Asher! I have to show you something!” as they ran down the hall. And that, dear friends, is when I discovered that Maverick was digging chunks of chocolate chip cookie out of his underwear and dumping them on the floor for his brother to eat.

I guess the bright side is that my sons are looking out for each other, which has been my goal all along. So even though I fell short in a bunch of other areas today, I can go to bed knowing that my children love each other enough to smuggle baked goods in their underpants. 

Nothing says love like a homemade cookie … right?