Dinnertime with the Karenpies or Why We Aren't the Cleavers

Warning: The following post contains inappropriate humor. Like you're surprised.

I'm on the kids all the time, to keep their hands to themselves when they eat. To stop touching each other and putting their fingers and hands in their siblings faces because that's how food gets spilled and how milk glasses get knocked over.

Because when full glasses of milk get spilled in my kitchen, I go postal. The splashing sound of liquid hitting the kitchen floor is enough to make me instantly berzerko. Whoever coined the phrase, "There's no use crying over spilt milk" is a bozo. A bozo who never cleaned up spilt milk. Milk that hit the floor and splashed 7 feet away. Milk that was spilled because somebody was messing around.

Please tell me I'm not alone in this.

Tonight at supper, Daniel was his usual goofy self. He was eating and at the same time, walking his fingers around his plate. He did it over and over, progressively getting closer to my plate. He knows better. As his walking fingers orbited his plate and approached mine for the 783rd time, I had had enough and I stabbed him with my fork. Startled, he jerked his hand back then started laughing. Then he looked for blood.

Oh COME ON. Like none of you have ever stabbed one of your children with your fork at the dinner table. Like I'm the only one.

After that, the conversation went something like this:

Matthew, seeing the commotion at the other end of the table, asked: "What'd you do, Mom?"

Me: "I stabbed Daniel's hand with my fork because he was messing around too close to my plate."

Katie: "I have an idea Mom! If someone messes around you should first whack them over the head and the second time fork them."

Me: "If someone is messing around at the dinner table I'll probably leave it -"

Daniel: (interrupting) " - for the professionals?"

Me: "Well, no, I meant to say 'wait' because every situation is different. Not every situation requires stabbing someone with a fork."

Matthew: "So you don't want to fork everybody?"

Katie: "Mom, have you ever been forked?"

Me: "Uuuuhh." Looking to Duane for A LITTLE HELP HERE because I'm finding it too difficult to keep a straight face. Of course he's off the kids' radar and is quietly sitting across from me. He's trying so hard to keep from laughing, he has tears in his eyes. He was thinking, "How the fork do we get out of this one?"

Katie: "What if Dad messes around? Will you fork him?"

Me: "You think I should fork Dad?"

Daniel: "Well, if he messes around . . ."

Me: "Oh yeah. Dad will definitely get forked. No question about it."

The end.