Almost Two and A Confession

I had to get a picture of Luke this morning with "Eyebrow Bear." We went to Build A Bear this summer when we were in Michigan and this is the bear he picked out himself. Do you see any resemblence? Tomorrow is the anniversary of my official due date with him, but he was overcooked (just like his brothers) so his birthday isn't until Tuesday. We are having a small birthday party for him on Sunday so perhaps I will get some pictures and post.

There's a TON going on around here that I haven't had the time to blog about but will try to soon. However, there's one thing I want to confess to the Blogosphere:

I HATE eating with my children.

There, I said it. Am I a horrible mother or what?

I know how important family dinners are. I understand the statistics, about how families that sit down to dinner together are less likely to end up with kids on drugs and in jail. Don't get me wrong - I am ALL FOR family dinners. Just not with MY family.

Here's the scenario: I spend an hour or more preparing a meal. I don't do anything crazy or gourmet and try to make just a basic meal that will be acceptable to kids. Tacos. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Lasagna. In the middle of cooking I may or may not have to deal with at least one of the following distractions:

Two or more of the kids fighting
Luke dirtying his underpants
William screaming at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason
Something being thrown dangerously near the TV
Luke wedging himself between myself and the counter and begging to be held
More William screaming (this phase has been going on for about 6 months now)
One kid tattling on another for something
(You get the idea - it's pretty much chaos at all times)

So I finally finish dinner and ask them all to come up to eat. I dish up four plates and cut the meat. Then I ask them again to come to the table. Maybe one shows up. Then I get all their drinks. Then I say again "Come eat." MAYBE three of the four are now at the table, but I almost always have to physically chase at least one down.

That's when the worst part begins: the complaining. There is almost NOTHING I can put in front of them that doesn't disgust them, UNLESS I made them PBJ's every night. But I refuse to do that. Is it that outlandish to think they might eat a NORMAL meal every once in a while? Seriously, it's SOOOO discouraging!

So then the next 20-30 minutes is a rapid succession of "stop touching him," "get back up to the table," and "JUST EAT!!!" It's truly the worst part of my entire day with them, almost without fail. Isn't that just PATHETIC???

So the last few nights I have made dinner for everyone and then I leave and walk the dog. I come back 30 minutes later and clean the kitchen. Perfect! I am soooo much happier this way! I don't even feel really bad about it because family dinners at our house are enough to drive ME to drugs!

Any moms out there with older kids - will the experience EVER get any better?