Dinner time

The transition of junk table to dinner table, of homework to eating always seems impossible to me. One minute crayons, paperwork, a college catalogue, a coupon for cat food, that weekly with the tv guide, and a roll of scotch tape, all of it must find a new spot that where it won't get lost but I won't have to look at it. Fifteen minutes, one side of Janet Jackson's greatest hits, and there are napkins and jelly jars and a mountain of pot roast and a hill of mashed cauliflower, potatoes and leeks, a puddle of spinach and me and the kids gathered around, sniffing and negotiating how much and how long and looking for ketchup.