Bea’s Table-Time Rhythm

When Grandpa finished, Bea raised one paw a little. “May I tell about my puddle now?” she asked. Mama nodded. Bea grinned. Then she noticed the bread basket was too far away. Her paw started to stretch across the table. She pulled it back. “Bread, please, little one?” Papa passed it close.

Papa set the bread plate near Bea. The butter shone yellow and soft. Bea wanted to spread it fast, right to the corners. Her knife bumped the plate. A crumb hopped onto the table. Bea paused. The bread was small, but her hurry felt big. She pressed more gently, slow as a warm paw.

Cousin Lolo asked, “What color was your puddle?” Bea took a bread bite and tried to answer at the same time. “Mmmph—” A few crumbs dotted her coral bib. Mama passed a napkin with a soft smile. Bea chewed until the bread was gone. Then she said, “Brown, with sky on top.”

A carrot coin slipped from Bea’s fork and rolled beside her bowl. Bea’s paw darted after it. Her elbow nudged her cup, and the water wobbled in a bright little wave. Bea froze. Papa’s paw steadied the cup. Bea breathed out, picked up the carrot with her fork, and kept her elbows close.

Grandpa told the part where his boot got stuck. Everyone laughed, even Bea. Her chair wiggled with her laugh. One back paw lifted, then the other. The chair gave a squeak again. Bea noticed the tilt in her tummy. She planted both paws flat and laughed from her steady seat.

The soup bowl looked far away after Bea scooted back. She wanted it closer. Her paws twitched toward the rim. Then she remembered the wobbling cup. Bea looked at Mama. “Could you move my bowl closer, please?” Mama slid it in. “Good asking,” she said. Bea’s spoon dipped quietly.

Grandpa tapped one finger beside his bowl. “Then my boot made a slurrrp!” Bea’s ears popped up. She wanted to tell little one exactly how funny it sounded. “And then I—” she burst in. Lolo blinked, still holding a carrot. Bea heard the quiet space she had stepped into.

Bea’s cheeks felt warm under her spots. Mama’s paw rested near the napkins, not rushing her. Grandpa smiled and finished, “Then I hopped home with one muddy sock.” Everyone chuckled. Bea kept her paws around her spoon. When the laugh softened, she said, “I can hop like that too.”

The soup smelled sweet and herby. Bea scooped a mountain spoonful, round as a little hill. It wobbled toward her mouth. Drip, drip, drip. Orange drops spotted the bowl rim. Bea stopped before the spoon tipped. She slid some soup back and tried a smaller scoop. This one traveled neatly.

Bea tasted the small spoonful. Warm soup slid over her tongue. She chewed a soft potato cube, then swallowed. Lolo asked, “May I have more bread?” Papa passed the plate. Bea listened to the please and the thank you. Her own bread looked close, but not close enough for grabbing.

Bea put down her spoon. “Could you pass the bread, please?” she asked. The plate came around, warm and safe. Bea took one small piece. She sat with both paws steady, chewed, listened, and smiled at little one. Dinner still had bumps and crumbs, but now Bea knew the rhythm.