Those moments ...

Welcome to my restaurant. What would you like to eat?

Before I answer she asks me where I would like to sit. I have a choice between three chairs. At each one is an old birthday card that I assume is the menu.

I think I'll have a frog sandwich.

We don't have that.

How about a turtle biscuit?

She rolls her eyes for a moment and says,"We have two specials: birthday cake and a vegetable basket."

We're at the dining room table, which usually only sees action during holidays or when family/friends are over. Rylee, my soon-to-be six year old, is taking my order in her restaurant.

As she goes over to the box of plastic food to get my vegetables and cake (balance is everything), I realize this is one of those moments. This sappy thing happens to me occasionally. I blame people who tell me to cherish this time when my kids are little as well as the fact that she's starting first grade tomorrow. Someday I know I'll be looking at Rylee, Jackson, or another future Barkley and wishing for one moment I could hold them again like they were little -- back when I was their superhero before they became teenagers and realized how lame I am. I'll wish I could quantum leap back to here and live for a few minutes in this make-believe restaurant. I'll think how cool it would be if I could actually go back to that time ...

The time I'm in right now.

We don't have vegetables. Would you like a fruit basket?

That would be great.

Here's your toast. Be careful. It's really hot.

A few minutes later I'm finished with my birthday cake, fruit basket, toast, coffee, and chocolate milk. Don't laugh. It was good.

Would you like anything else?

It's getting late and she needs to go to bed, as does her brother. Tomorrow's a big day and another milestone.

Will you come back?

Often.