This is the first dinner we’ve shared, just the two of us. At least, it’s the first that we’ve both sat at the table for.
Ryan is working late, and so it’s just us.
I was tempted to just eat crackers and apples and popcorn and whatever else I happened to grab. But no, I knew we should sit and have dinner.
So here I am, having one of those moments when I feel like a Real Mom.
I lit a candle — little man’s favorite thing — and set it on the table. I set our places: eggs and toast on my plate, cheez-its in a little bowl at his place. We sat down and prayed; he held my hand, like he knows to do. Since there is no conversation, we fill the silence with “Mmmm!” after every bite.
He wants to slam his bowl on the table, but I ask him not to. We’re having a candlelit dinner, after all. Certain decorum is in order.
Nat King Cole is crooning in the background, and paper snowflakes fall in our window.
And I remember a hundred dinners, just us and Mom, with plastic cups set properly, napkins folded and tucked under our forks, eating our fruit slices and sandwiches as though it were King’s fare. What wonderful memories.
I’m so glad I decided to do dinner the right way tonight. Hopefully it’s the making of a wonderful memory for someone else.