When did the Circus get here?

I've a hypothesis. Table manners should not be taught at dinner. Between, the attention span of the natives at that hour and all the excitement from the day, it's near impossible to expect much. Let me paint a picture.

(Ladies and Gentlemen, the story you are about to hear is true. The details will not be withheld from the innocent.)

So, tonight, I made spaghetti, because my kids love spaghetti and I really wanted them to have a "good nutritious meal" to help them grow "strong and healthy". After carefully setting the table, pouring the correct amount of milk in each cup as to minimize the mess of a possible accident and cutting my children's spaghetti into bite size pieces so we don't have sauce flipping all over their beautiful, angelic faces, I called them in. And that's where it all began.

(Mind you, throughout this story, my youngest girl, age 11 months, is in her highchair either banging the tray or making various yelps for attention and/or food, AND my husband is missing tonight. So I am the lonely defense man.)
Natalie comes in and sits at the table and says, "I don't like Lasagna. I can't eat the weird stuff." I calmly explain that it's spaghetti and that there is no "weird stuff" in it. She is less sure and uses her fingers to comb through the noodles and sauce to find ever piece that slightly resembles a different texture or shade.
Meanwhile, Nicholas is making loops around the house, decked out in full Super-man gear. I call him once, twice, three times, and then say, "Nicholas! Please come for dinner before I get upset." He marches over and says, "I'm Clark Kent," and makes two more laps before approaching the table and saying, "I wanted to sit by the baby." I explain that I need to sit by the baby to feed the baby. This discussion goes on for longer than needed and I finally surrender and say, "OK! You can sit by her." Natalie says our blessing on the food and after blessing each member of our family at least 3 times, she continues to bless her cousin and the prophet. After the blessing, the children continue their game of superheroes at the table and I have to remind them that they are at the table for a purpose. Suddenly, Natalie shouts, "I need to go to the bathroom!" Nicholas says, "Me too!" and they both run to the same bathroom. I suggest that Natalie uses the one in the hall which she agrees to. But, before she leaves, she runs down the list of what I need to do to her meal and her table setting to make it presentable before she gets back. (I have to remind her that she needs to go to the bathroom.) Remember the baby throughout all of this, adding a lovely soundtrack to the scene.

While I shovel in a few bites of dinner myself, and feed the baby, Nicholas calls from one bathroom saying he missed the mark. I run in to assist. Meanwhile, the phone rings. Do I run to get it? Are you kidding me??!! That's what an answering machine was invented for. My daughter hollers from the hall saying to come quick. I run over there to see what mess she's made. She points to the toilet paper which has a small black fuss on it and she says, "This toilet paper is bad." I flick off the fuss and assure her it will suffice. I run back to my son and help him "finish the job," and say, "Wash your hands, please." As I run across the room I yell, "With soap!" Natalie is needing help as well, and I assist. After they are both washing their hands, I literally sit at the table by myself for 7 minutes listening to the sound of running water. Instead of stopping them, I decide to finish my dinner and feeding the baby. After I do this, I call them back in. Upon arriving at the table, Nicholas makes a mound out of his spaghetti and Natalie pokes finger holes into her bread. They want food coloring to dye their applesauce, which I say, "Not tonight," and my children put on their pouting faces for a few moments until Natalie starts to slurp up her milk. Nicholas wedges his spoon into his mouth in such a way that his applesauce squirts out the other side of his cheek and ....on and on and on.

And yet, if you looked at their plates, you would swear they hadn't touch them. Oh, wait! Maybe they didn't touch them!

And this is why, in my opinion, dinner manners should be taught at the breakfast table.