Dinnertime.

I would like our family dinners to look like this:

They don't.

Especially now that Avery is eating solids, she is adding her very vocal thoughts to the mix. And Carter has been particularly defiant the last week. Seth and I spend dinner time attempting to get a few bites of food in while passing Avery's spoon (and sometimes Avery) back and forth and hoping she doesn't scream too loudly in her impatience, trying to contain, redirect, and discipline Carter when he acts up, and make sure the dog doesn't steal anything off the table, which she very rarely does but opportunity abounds. 

Last night, Carter had no pants on (Seth's decision, not mine) because he had just leaked through his diaper and was getting a bath immediately after dinner anyway. In the midst of dinner, he smeared sour cream in his hair and threw his fork at the wall, resulting in a chair time out where he proceeded to scream at the tops of his lungs, therefore resulting in a much longer chair time out. The flying fork hit the wall and bounced into the dog's water bowl, so Stella pounced faster than a cheetah on the hunt, thinking it was food and not just a metal utensil gone awry. Avery was yelling for more squash! More Squash! MORE SQUASH! At one point, I had lifted the spoon into the air and paused while I turned my head toward Carter. All of the sudden, as I was looking away, I feel two tiny hands grab my arm and shove the spoon into her mouth. At least she can hold her own around here. 

Someday, Norman Rockwell. Someday.