Musing on Meals

Lunch is always a toss up. The conversations thrill or kill me. Tristan, with a dead serious face asks his sisters "who wants to be a fart for Reformation Day, what would that look like?" Then the sly corner of his mouth turns up a grin as they squeal out factual responses about how impossible it is to be bubbly gas.
Most lunches I am like a referee. "Gideon! No throwing plates (cups, forks, etc). Gideon, no hitting your brother with food or utensils, nope, that doesn't mean you can bang on the table either. Tristan, scooch away from your brother and eat. Tryn, feet off your sister's chair. Annika, where are you going? Annika, sit down. On your butt. Annika, feet off your sister's chair. Gideon, food does not go in your cup. Gideon, sit up. Gideon eat a bite of your bagel. Gideon, no blowing bubbles in your milk. Whoops, somebody grab a rag!" We spill one drink a meal, begetting the question "Why doesn't she use sippy cups?" (lazy) and "Why doesn't she bring a rag to every meal?" (hopeful laziness?)
At some point in my life I will be okay with the chair gymnastics of my small children....I know that Annika listens better while contorting and wiggling and touching things and it seems that Gideon also has this affliction (courtesy of their mother). Learning styles aside, Stefan and I have discovered that dinner doesn't hold much conversation for us anymore unless we really put effort and focus into it.
On a sweet note: the kids are all really good at clearing the table, unloading and putting away dishes, and helping out with setting the table. This has provided much relief from the dinner workload and it is true that somethings get easier. Nor would I trade any of them for less work or more dinner conversation or cleaner rags.