Tonight's Dinnertime Pea-asco

No lie. No exaggeration. No kidding.

I just chased a man--a man born in the year 1974--around the house with a spoonful of peas. It was like a very lame, very tricky Homecoming relay. Despite my best efforts, Captain Nutrition gave me the slip, shutting himself in the bathroom yelping "I don't want anymore peas! I don't like peeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas!"

Having managed to coax a spoonful into my husband's mouth when he turned to protest finishing his tablespoon-sized serving (when it counts, I have reflexes like Ralph freakin' Macchio), I wasn't willing to go down without a fight. I soon discovered, though, that peas don't fit under door jams. They just sort of spread out, mocking you.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by tonight's pea-lay: my first attempt to integrate colors outside of the beige family onto his dinner plate found him cajoling carrots into the disappointed yaps of our dogs. So now they have really sharp teeth. And night vision. It's terrifying.