ding ding ding

There's a little problem with dinner time at my house. Its not the strain of cooking night after night, or even the pile up of dishes that I can manage to dirty in a single meal preparation... no, its the company.

I hate eating with these people.

Correction, Brad isn't a bad dinner partner. He could stand to use his utensils more and fingers less... but I practically, and sometimes literally, lick my plate clean so who am I to judge on table manners? But, eating with my children. Ugh. Worst.

Proven by the photo below.
One on timeout and the other passed out.

Its like they hate me and love to prove it during dinner time. I'm not talking like they fight me on their vegetables... oh they do that too, but they also fight me on everything else.

And forget it if I baked a casserole... that scenario goes a little something like this:
*boxing bell sounds, Mom puts on oven mitt boxing gloves and approaches her opponents.
Son throws first blow, ew, whats in that?
Mom blocks said jab and goes straight for the gut, nutrition and you need to eat all of it off your plate!
Daughter comes in as Son's back up, uckies.
Dad throws in kitchen towel before the fight gets dirty...

And don't let those delinquent masterminds above fool you, Khage's gut appears to be huge like he ate a massive amount of dinner... he didn't. Beer gut is just his normal body shape. And Harlyn's tray looks clean as if she devoured every last morsel but instead it remained spotless all throughout dinner only because Brad was spoon feeding her as she alternated back and forth between being shaken awake and the REM cycle.

See what I'm dealing with over here? And lets not even discuss the mishaps, shenanigans and complete food related nonsense that I must endure during breakfast and lunch, all in the sake of nutrition. Am I a bad Mom if its fruit snacks and string cheese from this moment on?

Don't answer that.