I think he's done

So a few weeks ago, I was boasting about Quinn and how he puts away - throws -  his dinner plates into the kitchen sink.
Today, he's decided there's another way to get his message across that he's done with dinner. While I was absorbed with the task of urging Ceilidh to finish dinner and get ready for Brownies, and feeling Aisling's forehead for a fever that may or may not have been present, Quinn had hoovered up his pasta. He may have stated "done" but I didn't hear it.
I did however, catch, out of the corner of my eye, the dinner plate with a few strands of cheesy pasta get turned upside over his head. And then for good measure, he rubbed the bowl and the remaining bits of cheese all over his hair. Yuck.
With an avid audience - his siblings who started laughing - he grinned and refused to let go of the bowl.

Grrreat!

Picking up noodles from the floor are a pain in the butt. Sometimes, I wish I had a dog. Actually, every weekend, I wish I had a dog to trail behind the kids and clean up their crumbs.