6:43: Dinner is served, 13 minutes later than expected.
6:44: S asks for more Parmesan please.
6:45: Parmesan delivered.
6:46: Happy retellings of our day, spent mostly apart.
6:52: N needs more milk.
6:53: Milk delivered.
6:54: S needs more milk.
6:55: Overheard from the kitchen: “My band-aid is BRRRROOOKEEEN,” S in a wavering voice. Husband: “That’s not a band-aid, S. It’s your spaghetti. Take it off your arm.”
6:56: Milk delivered.
6:57: S needs more Parmesan – request denied.
6:59: Children, mercifully, run from the table to play Star Wars in a cardboard box.
7:00: Grateful smile and catch up with the husband.
7:02: Giant beach ball flies through the air, shatters my wine glass, and soaks my salad in Pinot Noir. Dinner, complete.