With the return of daylight savings, preparing dinner is a delicate but manic dance around a demanding and danger-prone toddler and the fact that Ford leaves school at dusk, right about the time Chas turns into a werewolf. It’s a crazy juggling act trying to get dinner, or something that resembles dinner, on the table for everyone. It’s even harder trying to get the boys to eat it. But that’s another story. Tonight there’s one thing I want to remark on, because I know Ford is getting older. This cute little thing he’s done all year that has been so fun to watch will, most likely, eventually phase out:
I love the moment when the plates are all on the table, and everyone has a glass and a fork and a knife and a spoon and a napkin, and the burners are turned off and we finally begin to eat. It is at that moment, when we take our first bite or have our first sip of wine (after an obligatory “Cheers!”), that Ford always begins, in upright posture and a tilt to his head,
“So, how was your day, Mommy?”
See? Small talk never sounded so good.