I'd like to offer snapshot of this evening's dinner table.
My husband worked late tonight, so I fed the crew solo. After assuring Ty that the wee bits of broccoli I sneaked into his pasta were actually green tellicherry peppercorns and telling Leif that it actually was broccoli and not trees as Liam said, we are prepared to eat.
The meal, as usual, progresses smoothly for about five minutes before spiraling into the expected chaos. Ty flips his head toward the window to look into the dark for the coyote he heard outside. In the process, the massive forkful of spaghetti he has hanging out of his mouth whips around and adheres to the side of his face.
Aidan, who just saw the show that Ty put on, starts laughing so hard that he turns various shades of purple and I stare at him to figure out whether or not he's choking. He's not. But he is honing his fake-laughing skills and the royal we are not amused.
Liam, who is attempting to maintain the carefully cultivated air of superiority that comes with not "behaving like those animals," breaks the thin veneer of civility by grabbing a huge floret of garlicky buttered broccoli with his hand. Instead of taking small bites he, by degrees, manages to wedge the whole thing in his mouth at the same time.
Leif shrieks, "MOM! WOOK!" and proudly shows off an almost life-sized picture of a sword he has drawn entirely with cooked spaghetti noodles on, what else, the table. Rowan, who has amused his brothers by singing our mealtime prayer at the top of his lungs every minute and a half or so, decides to sing the whole thing while growling.
When I have had enough of the din and smack my palm on the table to be heard over the roar, Rowan imitates me and catches the edge of his bowl, overturning it in the process. Sigh.