Kids in the kitchen, flour in my hair. Biscuits browning in the oven, and laughter everywhere. Cookie doe on the baking sheet being pressed into weird shapes only a kid can imagine. What looks like great confusion, is the closest thing to paradise this side of Heaven. When the mash potatoes are plated and the biscuits are golden brown. The table is quickly set and the family settles down. With folded hands we say grace and the eating begins. We quietly say please and thank you as the food is passed around. The clanking of forks and spoons is the only real sound. When all the plates are cleaned, the cookies are passed around and everyone gets a good laugh at the funny shapes that we have cooked. Then the table is cleared and it is time for sleep. Dinner has become a form of therapy to keep my sanity in a world gone utterly mad.