The bubble I live in

“I was a bubble once before someone popped me.” My daughter, Goose, exclaimed at the dinner table. Dinner looked close to good, even if there was no fancy garnishing. It was as good as it could get. I was just happy I had vegetables to give them. dinner2 (2 of 7).jpg

As everybody finished I looked at what was left. Why bother making food at all? Okay, why bother making enough for everybody? In order for my kids to eat I needed to make just two plates of food. I figured it this way: I ate what there was and that would take care of plate number 1. Plate number 2 could be divided amongst the other three children (my special needs child ate something different) because from where I was at one child ate the pasta minus the sauce, one ate the corn, and one ate the meatballs. Of course they never eat all the food so while I did dishes Goose helped herself to a cupful of shredded cheese.

Eating dinner with children is always messy. Always. Always. Any kind of media that portrays a somewhat clean table where children eat is lying. Oh sure, they try and get you to think that the child made a mess–on their plate. The only way to accurately depict the truth is to make sure that food is all over the table, floor and child. dinner2 (4 of 7)

After all, food is not for eating but for playing…and while I type this that cupful of cheese is now being played with. Great.

Despite the mess that dinner made I was happy that we were at the table together. Even if my oldest, Buttercup, Goose were sticking their tongues out each other and my youngest, Monkey, was grabbing meatballs off of my plate. This is what makes memories. This is what was perfect. I even enjoyed the aftermath when Goose decided to have a tea party with the pitcher of water still on the table. I heard the splatter and dripping of water once I left the room–Monkey poured the whole pitcher out at once. This is my bubble though.

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