“Bubl sa. Bubl sa.”
“SAWYER WANTS A BUBBLE SAW.”
“What’s he saying Jess? No, sit down and eat, I can get it… what’s bubl sa?”
I am on my feet, tapping the remnants of applesauce off my spoon into a tiny plastic dish, orange, of course, blue would be Parker’s, pink, McKenna’s, before I can translate. My behind has barely skimmed the chair anyway, having just recoiled from my dive for a rogue spoon torpedoing to the floor, potatoes spraying the delighted audience.
“Bubl saaa,” deep saucers of blue look up at me as I place the mashed concoction my youngest was pining for in front of his fat-padded fingers, sweet lips smiling, opening to reveal every tooth that had struggled to interrupt that gummy smile. I deftly secure his bib, fingers grazing where baby curls give way to the first pebbles of his delicate little spine, it had once curled against my chest for hours on end.
“… and if I’m not waiting out there right at 6:37 she is not going to wait Mom, she’s not.”
My mind centers back to the buzzing table at my waist, the current topic of teenage choice, a familiar one. My oldest shoves rose glasses up that straight nose we both wear, hair, enough for three heads, springing loose under the confines of a weighted ponytail I craft expertly each morning. Wide, grown fingers curl her fork as she chews.
“Moooom,” she yells, rushing to shield her eyes with a thin line of silverware, a look of disgust crawling up her round, still baby, face, “where’s his PANTS?”
Oh, my son, in partial glory, giving away his lack of dinner attire as he rises, revealing what should be hidden under the table. The bony figure buzzing sheer energy off his seat, his moments of sitting still long since over, tapping skinny toes, miniatures of his father’s, atop his heaping plate, making it bounce with each beat of his foot.
“Weeeeee,” he delights, blonde hair settling back just as it does when my fingers trace it, giving way to a chiseled little boy face, this face his dad’s too, in its entirety. He watches morsels of his meal, finely chopped for still-learning mouths, take flight through dinner table air.
“Pawkawr!” his sister chides, in that I love you, you silly boy tone no one can replicate.
Golden locks skim her plate, her elegant fingers argue with a “big girl” spoon, pleading to ignore the awkwardness of being three, she concentrates on the eating at hand and soaks in her brother’s joy all at once. Her lips purse to a heart, the dimples I love to kiss press deep, eyes smiling in satisfaction at her happy little life as she resists her penchant for sophistication and sets forth meticulously covering her delicate hand in gravy, waiting for her brother to catch wind of her antics.
For a semi-uneventful second, my eyes find my husband, “So what did you want to do abou..”
“Parker! Put that down, alright buddy, off the table, let’s go.”
“Listen to Daddy, Parker, off the table, come on, we’re all eating together, isn’t this nice?”
My husband’s long, caring arm stretches for my son, righting him back to his place. He leans in, kissing his son on the cheek, whispering love calmly into his red ear.
My eyes swallow the meal whole, the leaf in the table, we need it now, the cast of characters defying, entertaining, chattering, munching. All mine.
My focus travels to the empty seat, it’s starkness, threatening to pull me in, tugs at my side instead, challenging me to open my eyes wider, to bask and enjoy.
My table, my heart, full.
Almost.
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Oh. Oof. SO beautiful. And so much pain in that one last line.
Wow.
Your post has inspired me – to not long for a quiet dinner where one actually spends the time sitting and eating, but to enjoy these moments of chaos more fully, and appreciate my children even more.
Thank you.
Wow! What a wonderful story. I can;t wait till you publish your first book. 🙂
Oh, wow. And this is why we so rarely have family meals. But you've got me thinking we should, because you're right–despite the chaos, the interruptions, the mess, there is inevitably one small moment when you take it all in and appreciate all the love in the world, right there at your kitchen table.
And then, at my house, somebody usually starts complaining about the food.
Ahem.
I enjoyed this tremendously. Your words are full of love for your children. The details you describe in them are things only a mother would tend to notice and appreciate; subtle changes that mean both growth and loss. The writing is flawless.
I love that you chose and everyday moment for this.
I love the descriptions. And the activity.
And so much love.
visual and entertaining. thx for taking us along w u. nice read. keep on.
Oh, honey.. you bring tears with every post. This was amazing, beautiful, as always.
Hadley is watching, sharing in your moments of joy.. keep giving her more to share.
I LOVE how you captured the insanity of family of five trying to eat dinner together…brings me back to my childhood 🙂
this was woven together beautifully!
And that chaos is exactly why sometimes I think I'm good with just one!
Lovely post.
Your deep love for your family shines through all the chaos. What a scene!
Jessica…
Your posts just ooze love.
I love that you find the beauty in those small moments…the ordinary ones that can so easily slip by.
Posts like these make me want to visit you, to sit at your table and talk over coffee.
Your home just feels so warm and inviting, your family so lovely and real.
Excellent descriptions!
Just one word: LOVELY.
I loved your exquisite descriptions of your kids – intimate details that only a mother can know. This was wonderful – wonderful!
I had no idea what was going on or who was saying what – just like at my house!!! Chaos, 24-7. I can so relate!
Great post! I felt like I was looking into a window. =)
I'm pretty sure I was sitting right there at the table with you, and I had a wonderful time. 🙂
You did a great job of capturing not only the chaos of dinnertime but also the cocktail of fatigue, happiness, and grief. My concrit would be that I did get lost as to which child was doing what to whom or even how many children were at the table in that moment.
I love your description of a family meal. I can't imagine the loss you must feel. And your ending is so heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time.
I love how you use the table as the centerpiece for all of the actions, emotions and things left unsaid!
This is such a beautiful post!! Like Ash said – a delicious menagerie!
You know, as I was reading about your table I was envisioning mine the whole time too. Much the same antics and our evenings are made of very similar scenes. 🙂 I feel your full, yet still missing something heart…
Sometimes just getting to the table itself is a battle. You have many battles here, in your heart and your eyes.
Busy and very happy, and the little gap there too, but she is there watching. Jen
Oh what a delicious menagerie. You're so right, some days you do just have to embrace the moment, the absolute wonderful chaos. It's all good.
SO very easy to see, the choreography of a family meal in all its imperfect glory. Sometimes I find an entire meal has passed and I haven't actually let the full weight of my body hit the chair.
It's good to slow down, to see, to feel the fullness.
you have a way with words! amazing to say the least! i love all your posts and enjoy coming here to read about your life with your beauties~ i don't think i say it enough! i may not always comment on every post but know that i'm reading them….shit! even my kids read you;-) but you're the only one i allow them to read! xoxo haha:)
You are truly a talented writer. Enjoyed reading this.
As always so beautiful and so very very well written. Your very talented and I look forward to your posts
How do you give us your moments so easily and perfectly?
I love this. Once again, I'm totally in awe of your writing.
This is beautiful. You really capture life.
You capture the table perfectly. The chaos, the different voices of your children. It's like I'm right there. Well, done, friend.
And that last word? It says so much.