julierichmond

The transition of junk table to dinner table, of homework to eating always seems impossible to me. One minute crayons, paperwork, a college catalogue, a coupon for cat food, that weekly with the tv guide, and a roll of scotch tape, all of it must find a new spot  where it won’t get lost but  we don’t have to look at it. After fifteen minutes and Side 1 of Janet Jackson’s greatest hits, there are napkins and jelly jars. In the middle of it all is a mountain of pot roast and a hill of mashed cauliflower, potatoes and leeks overlooking a puddle of spinach.  The kids and I gather and sit. There is sniffing and negotiating (how much spinach, how long do we have to wait for dessert…) Before one bite is eaten, there is the horrible realization that the ketchup hasn’t made it to the table. There is the sprint to the refrigerator, one kid, two, “Mom, where is the Heinz?” And the collective sigh of relief when I find it. Someone stuck it in the cupboard with the crackers. It’s probably gone bad.

That was last night. No one has died yet.