It Happens! A mealtime story.

I’m sure the noise level in the kitchen must exceed the maximum allowed by law.

The dishwasher is still running because no one thought to turn it on earlier and the dishes needed aren’t clean. The dryer is running so that the forgotten permanent press clothes left in yesterday won't get permanently wrinkled. The washer is re-washing the same load because the clothes in it have began to emanate that odor which only three day old damp clothes can.

As dinner time gets nearer, a little help is needed to get everything ready to put on the table. I call the children. The older two try to out-yak each other talking of things they forgot to say when it was quiet. The youngest, not to be outdone, raises her voice a few notches to be heard above everything and everyone else. Above the din, I get across the message that it’s time to set the table. Now the clatter of dishes, clink of glasses, and rattle of silverware add to the cacophony.

The whir of the automatic opener pulling up the garage door and the roar of the engine as the truck is pulled inside are almost unheard. The door into the den from the garage opens, and the man of the house enters. The look on his face attests it’s been a long, hard day, but that's no reason not to shout hello. His frown turns to a glower as he crosses the den to the kitchen and finds he can’t hear himself think.

Time for some peace and quiet. The dishwasher has completed its cycle, the other appliances are turned off, the table is set, the candles are lit, and serenity fills the room. The children sit at their accustomed places; dinner is set on the table and...

“Give me five minutes, I’ve gotta go upstairs.”

“Ha! Five minutes indeed.” but no words are spoken.

The family waits, chatting a bit.

“Aaron, put ice in the glasses. Cassie, get the soda, but give Rose milk. I’ll have water.”

Everything now done Father returns - within five minutes!

Everyone joins hands for “Grace.”

“Where’s the cranberry sauce? You know I never eat chicken unless there’s cranberry sauce.” Father glares at me.

The children grow tense. They know Mom doesn’t have cranberry sauce.

“I thought there was a can in the pantry, but there wasn’t, so we’re having applesauce, instead,” I reply casually.

Father’s face reveals annoyance. I go around the table serving chicken to everyone and as I approach him, he causes me to bump his glassful of soda - spilling only a few drops - as he flips his plate upside down. Annoyance confirmed.

“Ninny!” but no word is spoken. I place his chicken on the bottom of the plate. The children stare wide-eyed, first at the plate, then at me as I calmly sit down to my meal. The tension is so thick you can cut it.

“Please pass the potatoes and corn,” I request nonchalantly.

After serving myself, I pass them to the others who then set the bowls down on the table near their father, who, wonder of wonders, hasn’t stormed out of the room. Calmly, deliberately, Father serves himself potatoes and corn, and applesauce, and serenely begins to eat.

The children watch him wide-eyed with amazement, then look at me. My face is covered by my hands holding my napkin, but my twitching shoulders betray my delight. Unable to control myself, I burst into gales of laughter which are followed almost immediately by those of the children. Father looks once around the table, then sedately continues to eat his meal.

“Hey, Dad, how do you want your plate tomorrow, up or down?”