Time to make lunch. I’m pregnant and so hungry I could cry, but if I want to eat, I need to cook. As much as I’d like to make food my sole mission, I am interrupted by dozens of side quests. The toddler demands to be fed, despite the offering of mandarin oranges and crumbled bits of blueberry bread already scattered across her highchair tray. She smears sticky orange juice in her hair as revenge. 

The older kids are painting at the kitchen table, but stop to wail for help every few minutes. There is red paint in the yellow paint! There is too much water in the blue! We need more paper! “Just a minute” is my mantra. “Hang on.” I stumble through minefields of toys and cracker crumbs to help them with what they need. My daughter paints a family picture but forgets me. She squeezes me in, tall and alien-like, between her and her brother. My son paints a picture of me farting. Lovely.

Finally, the water boils for the macaroni and cheese. But wait! The six year old will only eat mac and cheese with peas mixed in! Not to mention having something green on their plates will make me feel like a better parent. There are none in the freezer. Run to the basement to find some in the chest freezer. Prep the peas. Plow a path through the homeschool materials, craft supplies, and toys on the kitchen table to make a space to eat.

The pasta is ready. I serve the toddler first. Before I can sit down, she is done eating and fussing to escape. I need to work fast if I want to avoid her throwing her loaded dishes onto the floor. Too late. The sippy cup crashes before I can get to the washcloth, splashing milk across the walls. I wipe it up. Wipe her up. Try to take bites of my own lunch between attempts to entertain her. 

My husband calls me midbite to ask for help looking up an address that apparently does not exist. Then the dentist calls to reschedule an appointment. The older kids are finished and want dessert. No, two desserts. And a snack. Half their plates sit untouched because the boxed mac and cheese is too cheesy. There is pasta on the floor. Puddles of paint dot the table. A mountain of dishes waits for me in the sink. Did I mention we don’t have a dishwasher?

Lunchtime isn’t always this crazy. On rare days, the kids play independently and eat their meals without complaint. Most days, my husband is around to help with the child wrangling. Some days, the toddler has more than five seconds of patience. But today, while the toddler is napping, I’ll finish eating my lunch. I’ll swallow my guilt with my cold, congealed pasta and let the older kids get too much screen time. I’ll listen to crappy youtube videos while I try to restore order to my kitchen and my mind. I’ll prepare myself for the next hangry hour on the horizon: dinnertime.

Been there? Leave a comment!