Just a Plate
I open the right cabinet door, and reach for a plate. The small plates lay stacked on the wire shelf, the larger ones rest beneath. I hesitate, wondering which plate will be necessary. In that moment of hesitation, I realize that it has been months since I've taken a plastic plate from the cabinet. They live in the same space as the ceramic plates, but to the left of the divider. We have a set of five matching plastic plates in pink, green, purple, blue, and orange, as well as tiny, saucer-sized plates in the primary colors. Years ago, the kids used these plates at every meal and snack. And now, my fingers haven't touched one in a very long time.
I stop myself and think about the importance of this moment. How when I bought those plates--the set of five, especially--I thought of the fact that all of my children could eat from them, plus a friend. Those plates have seen tea parties with homemade cookies, leftover pizza, spinach enchiladas, and too many sandwiches.We've used them as trays for paper appetizers, sleds for dolls, and Frisbees. The simple act of reaching for a plate has forced me to admit that my children, all four of them, are moving forward, growing older, and leaving behind many items from childhood. Aaron just turned ten, the girls will be teenagers in January, and Melina, my baby, reaches the ripe old age of seven come July. The kids no longer automatically reach for the plastic plates, and clearly, I no longer have babies in the house--that much I know.
But I'm loathe to give any of those plates away. If nothing else, they are a reminder of so many of the moments from childhood that will be difficult to remember someday. The times when the twins would gravitate toward pink and purple (Zoe liked pink, Talia purple) and Aaron preferred blue. The days when the children used to eat small portions and when balancing a plate, even a plastic one, was a skill that required practice. I remember the moment we bought those plates, how excited the children all were--dancing around and clapping their hands--much like they might if Santa Claus walked into the room. Now, it would take the gift of iPhones to warrant a reception like that.
None of them recognize the significance of the plates. I can't really ask them to, nor can I expect them to understand my point of view if I tell it to them. But I can ask them to use the plates from time to time. We'll brush them off, rinse their skins, and eat our meal from a plate that to me, is not just a plate.
I stop myself and think about the importance of this moment. How when I bought those plates--the set of five, especially--I thought of the fact that all of my children could eat from them, plus a friend. Those plates have seen tea parties with homemade cookies, leftover pizza, spinach enchiladas, and too many sandwiches.We've used them as trays for paper appetizers, sleds for dolls, and Frisbees. The simple act of reaching for a plate has forced me to admit that my children, all four of them, are moving forward, growing older, and leaving behind many items from childhood. Aaron just turned ten, the girls will be teenagers in January, and Melina, my baby, reaches the ripe old age of seven come July. The kids no longer automatically reach for the plastic plates, and clearly, I no longer have babies in the house--that much I know.
But I'm loathe to give any of those plates away. If nothing else, they are a reminder of so many of the moments from childhood that will be difficult to remember someday. The times when the twins would gravitate toward pink and purple (Zoe liked pink, Talia purple) and Aaron preferred blue. The days when the children used to eat small portions and when balancing a plate, even a plastic one, was a skill that required practice. I remember the moment we bought those plates, how excited the children all were--dancing around and clapping their hands--much like they might if Santa Claus walked into the room. Now, it would take the gift of iPhones to warrant a reception like that.
None of them recognize the significance of the plates. I can't really ask them to, nor can I expect them to understand my point of view if I tell it to them. But I can ask them to use the plates from time to time. We'll brush them off, rinse their skins, and eat our meal from a plate that to me, is not just a plate.
Comments