"Witch" Way to the Funny Farm?

In my Leave It To Beaver (NOT) upbringing, I watched a lot of inappropriate (for children) television. One of the weekly shows was Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. Anyone remember that? (wait, is there even anyone here over 30?)
There was one episode where Louise Lasser (Mary Hartman) had a "nervous breakdown".
I don't remember specifics, my child eyes watched utterly confused at a woman reacting strangely to loud noises. I think there was a sound like a big jet was flying overhead and she had her hands over her ears trying to curl up into a little ball. I remember asking my Mom what was happening, and she explained, "She's having a nervous breakdown".

"Oh".
That image stuck in my mind, mostly because I didn't understand what the heck I had just watched.

I do now.

Tonight as I stood at the kitchen sink, opting for sticking my raw hands into hot, sudsy dishwater rather than listen to the kids bicker at the table for one more minute, the clarity roared over me like a 747.

7 pm is the "witching hour" in our house. It's the time of day when one more whiny voice begging for sweets/to stay up later/to skip bath/to sleep with Mommy, makes mommy a little "witchy".
Reminding her you don't like cheese as you pick apart your meal is too much.
The McDonald's rap, is too much.
"I Spy" is too much.
The cacophony that accompanies our dinner table is enough to send me running from the room with my hands over my ears.

I learned that 7:00 was my limit a few years ago and we moved dinner back from 6:30 to 5:30 or 6:00--for a nicer dining experience. The noise is still there, Mommy's just not jamming a fork into her eye or the kid sitting closest to her.

There are those nights though, like when there's a football match in Norwich, that we eat later. Tonight was one of those.
I had a hot dinner waiting for my family. The family that practically fell out of the car tripping over their sarcastic comments and insults.
I waited upstairs rather than enter their little fraternity of dislike. I figured 45 minutes in the car with each other would get wiped off at the mat as they took off their shoes and then we'd sit to have a nice, although late, dinner together.
They began bickering about whether or not I was upstairs asleep. Oh sweet children, don't you know Mommy gave up sleep when you came into the world?
I served up dinner... to a very reluctant crowd.

Five bites into my meal, I decided that washing dirty pots and pans would be more fun.

One child was begging for more beans even though there were already some on her plate (it's harder to throw single beans down than it is handfuls when your chubby little fist hasn't mastered the fine motor skills). One child was practically laying on his plate complaining he was full, having taken NO bites. One child was facing the toddler, with the table to his side talking full steam ahead. The one sitting closest to me was eating--well, at least he was eating.

All of them were annoyed to be at the table because there were kids outside that would self-destruct if my kids didn't get outside to play in the next 30 seconds. Attitude hung like a thick, musty tapestry over my table. Great times, friends.

It wasn't until the threats had been made to exile them to their friendless rooms for the remainder of their lives did I discover the culprit behind my less-than enthusiastic diners.

Dad had grabbed a burger for everyone AS THEY WERE LEAVING THE FOOTBALL STADIUM.

Who feed kids just before they go home to dinner?

So I did dishes.
I stood at the sink with my hands screaming from the heat of the water and held on tightly to each slippery plate, fantasizing about allowing a few to take flight.

I think we'll move dinnertime to 4 pm, find me some demerol, and take Hubby's wallet away for a while.

Do you have a "witching hour"?