I am so tired, I just don't care

We set our dining room table for dinner.
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We use cloth napkins, a table cloth, the good dishes and the nicer stainless (I do have good set but it has to hand washed). There are candles on the table and also a mirrored three piece thing in the middle. And this week, fresh flowers (tulips . . . in a desperate attempt to evade winter I bought them for myself). My table with only one leaf in it is 94 inches long. Long enough that the kids cannot, hopefully, touch or kick each other.
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I change the table linens based on the season. In the ever hope-springs-eternal category, literally, I pulled out the spring linens. Therefore, on Sunday, we put away the darker stuff (which is weird when you think about it) and put out the pale green table cloth.
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Would it be too friggin hard to make it through one meal without someone spilling something on it. Please!?! Slop there, slip there, plip, plop, bleck. But Monday, probably takes the cake.
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We had spaghetti. Now without saying anything more, you probably know where this is going . . .
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We plate the spaghetti on the kitchen counter. Zachariah's gets his cut up and he doesn't want a meat ball. Sarah and Lindsey both enjoy about the same amount. I don't like spaghetti so being that I am spoiled rotten by my DH, he makes penne pasta or some other pasta. Dave gets a huge amount of spaghetti. I get home on Monday and I can hear Dave yelling (a rare occasion). Lindsey is running down the steps saying that she isn't that hungry and he is telling her that he called her five minutes ago and she didn't come down so she is stuck with what she's got . . .
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Welcome home!
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I dish out the meatballs and sauce. We do each have our own jobs. Zachariah takes his plate to his seat and for some really bizarre reason, my eldest decides to take her and Lindsey's plates to the table . . .
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slip
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slap
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slop
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almost the entire plate of spaghetti goes sliding off the plate, directly onto the table cloth, missing the placemat, hitting the chair and splattering down the legs to the floor.
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My DH took a deep breath and I started laughing . . . . I mean seriously, it was pretty funny.

One meal. We made it through one meal.