Mermaid, hey

   We don't always manage to have family dinner, but we generally try.  One of the luxuries of our flexible work schedule is that we can eat as early as necessary.  It used to be 5:30 pm, but even that seemed too late, so I've taken to having dinner ready as early as 4:30 pm.  On his long days, Henry gets home around 4 (he gets out of school at 2:50, plays football {!} for as long as the weather allows, and then comes home with our neighbors-- all this is HIS choice; I constantly volunteer to pick him up at school earlier!) and is starving and exhausted, so on those days especially I try to have something ready to eat.  Monday we all sat down to a dinner of cauliflower soup and biscuits, and everyone was hungry at the same time-- but not too hungry-- and ready to sit down-- but not too tired.  The sweet spot.
   For some reason, Henry decided to milk the moment.  He bade us all join hands, and then he said very solemnly, "now I will sing a song."  And he began, "Mermaid, mermaid, hey, mermaid mermaid, hey, hey, mermaid, hey..."   This turned out to be a looooong song.  Michael glanced at me, then glanced at his rapidly cooling soup.  Eventually the song ended and we started to eat.  "Now," Henry said, "you have to say one thing you're thankful for."  I started to say something about my health and he interrupted: "NOT the same thing you said at Thanksgiving dinner!  It has to be a different thing, and just ONE thing, no more.  Understand?"  
  I asked him what he did at school that day.  "I forget," he answered.  "What did you do at school, Mama?"  I started telling him about the various things I did at home (I don't have office time on Mondays) and he cut me off.  "I just want to hear about school.  Daddy, what did you do today?"  Obediently, Michael began telling Henry about researching book proposals on the Yale University Press website.  We all slurped our soup.