There is flour on the counter, oats that overflowed onto the floor, chocolate-encrusted spoons in the sink. There is Joey, the husband, exhausted by the preschoolers who were hanging on him all day, and he is stuffing granola into his mouth to ease his five o’clock starvation. There are two little girls trying to show me cartwheels in that minuscule space between the refrigerator and the counter where I really need to be. Sadie’s seven, and she is asking about the menu and ordering her sister to take over her job of setting the table. Rosie is five, and has already decided that she doesn’t want what’s for dinner. All I can do is throw up my hands in the midst of it all, and I can almost feel the anxiety of all families trying to get food on the table. Whatever time it is, it is the unfortunate hour that comes over many households right before dinner and links so many of us.
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