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When our first child became an official toddler, it was impossible to have a decent conversation with my husband at dinner. Our daughter loved to sit at the table and sing at the top of her lungs. How could we discipline her for being happy to eat? Our friends' son throws his food every night. How can they talk about their day while they're catching spaghetti in midair?

Here was our typical evening.

Brian would arrive home from work around six o'clock. He'd play with Pascaline, our 20-month-old daughter, while I finished making supper. We'd chat a few moments, and at some point he'd ask about my day. While I loved that question, instead of being able to answer honestly—because of attending to Pascaline and supper—I'd look at him with a tired smile and say, "It was okay." Inside, I wanted him to ask me again when I wasn't in the middle of something, but Brian would take my answer at face value and assume I didn't have more to add.

We'd buckle Pascaline into her high chair and say a blessing over dinner. Over the course of our meal, I'd ask Brian how his day went. Instead of getting a short answer, he'd launch into a 30-minute explanation of everything that went on at work. While I'd try my best to listen and show him I cared, Pascaline needed our attention too. She wanted us to listen to her sing. She didn't want to sit in her high chair for 30 minutes while Daddy rattled on about all the computer problems he was trying to solve.

In a desperate plea to get out of her high chair, she'd go from singing to shouting all her new words. Ball! Book! Thank You! Meow! Brian would sit a little straighter and continue talking—a lot louder. My head felt as if it was swimming. I'd look at Brian and see his mouth moving, but the only words I could hear were ball, book, thank you, and meow.

At this point, Brian would usually volunteer to clean up Pascaline. He'd put her under his arm and carry her to the kitchen sink, not taking a break from talking. Pascaline hates getting her face and hands washed, and the louder she cried in protest, the louder Brian talked. A couple times he'd ask me if I was listening. "Of course I'm listening," I'd reply. But I'd think, How well can one person listen with all this chaos?

After washing Pascaline, we'd both play with her for an hour and then put her to bed. By now it was after 8:00 and bills needed to be paid, the dishes needed to be washed, the in-laws needed to be called back …

Brian and I would set off to do all the things on our checklists and meet back when we were ready for bed. On good nights that would be after 11.

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