There He sits, spoon of peas in hand, apparently pondering something. "What?" I wonder, "To eat or not to eat? Why are they green? Why are they round?" I have grown so used to questions that I try to anticipate every possible inquisition so that I can have what He will deem an acceptable answer when the time comes. Smiling, He looks up triumphantly, "They're havin' a wittle party!" Shocking. There was no question; there was only a simple statement before He shoved the spoon, minus a few peas that fell victim to the floor, into His mouth. I stood and stared for a moment before laughing, first to myself, then aloud. Moments such as this are some of the best. I must remember, as I stand at the sink scrubbing a pot or bustling around the house doing any number of random chores, that I have been ruined. The world has ravaged Me and withered My ability to recognize a pea-party taking place right before My eyes. However, children, My son in particular, has not yet been tainted by the world: He is able to not only see the party, but laugh at it, and then form a boat from an accompanying piece of cheese. This is joy in its purest form and while My first reaction is laughter, I know that deep down that laughter is masking envy because I know that the peas would have a much more eventful party if they were riding on that little boat of cheese.
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