Meltdown at the Dinner Table

Yep. We had an official meltdown at the dinner table and it wasn't even dinner time. Just another eventful night on the ole homestead.

The oldest has re-written a meaningful letter at least a dozen times and is exerting his nervous energy via a bodily-noise sounding machine.

The middle, who is a boy by the way, just made the comment, "Hey, I can't wear make-up either." He sounded somewhat saddened by that fact.

The youngest thinks her life is over and she's only twelve. She is attempting to do her homework while at the same time rebuking every comment her brothers toss her way.

The oldest has mercifully left the room. The middle is trying to convince me how trustworthy he is. And the youngest is reminding everyone how good she is.

The oldest is back. The youngest has offered to give up make-up for a week if I will only let her tape the middle's mouth shut. Now they're discussing hair-do's. And discussing who looks best. Which the middle is warning the others that this particular line of discussion may not be wise.

We've got a whole house out there and where are they gathered? Right around me. I am blessed.

Lord have mercy, the oldest just left and returned with an electric guitar. The middle is mad cause I just pinky-promised the youngest that if she makes brownies, she can wear mascara tomorrow. He reminded me how his "soul was burning" when he had to get a hair cut four weeks ago.

Where is their father?

One of these days when the house is quiet, I'm sure I'll miss these kids. I'll miss the sound of "Smoke on the Water" on the guitar and all the "Eeewwwww's" that resound as an egg is dropped on my freshly polished hardwood floors. When the middle is not around to bombard me with his witty remarks that he apparently graces his culinary teacher with, I'm sure I'll sit and wonder what those kids of mine are up to.

For now, though, I'm going to fight the urge to scream and go back to the work that I came into the kitchen to do. And for the record, no one was around when I chose the table as my workspace.

Oh, and the meltdown? It was mine.