So, here’s the scene. We are having that one moment when we are all sitting at the table eating dinner. At the same time. That moment when no one is getting up, or running around or crying. That moment when Steve and I look at each other and think, “Oh my God, we are actually having a family moment.”

But then. Then, you look a little closer. And that is when you realize that the definition of a family moment is left open to interpretation. A wide and vast interpretation that is defined more by your standard of memorable than by your standard of normal.

Let’s take for example, this little mealtime gem…

First you have this:

Then Stella says, “Wouldn’t it be cool if you could take a bath in sour cream?”
And I say, “Yeah, that would be SO cool. You could fill up the whole bathtub and cover yourself up to your neck.”
To which, Steve – in his most reassuring voice – responds (more to himself than to anyone else at the table), “Yeah, but it would be okay because you could just take another bath and get all clean.”

Which makes you wonder how his brain doesn’t start oozing out his ears when A.) Porter was recently caught eating toilet paper out of the toilet bowl, B.) Stella decided to put her DVD du jour, Robin Hood, somewhere for safe keeping but can’t remember where, thereby putting the entire household on an Olympic-scale, needle-in-haystack reconnaissance mission, or C.) We had to install a flip-latch on the back-door because a certain 1-year-old has escaped into the backyard unnoticed on numerous occasions and been found looking like this:

Or like this:

And one begins to realize how bathing in sour cream just doesn’t seem so far fetched now, does it?