Precious memories

Mourning the loss of a family heirloom, Pat remembers why there should be no crying over shattered china

- PAT MCDERMOTT

When the MOTH (Man of the House) and I were young, crazy and knee deep in children, dinnertime called for patience. From five o’clock on, our kids circled the kitchen reminding us they didn’t like ‘sparrow’s grass’ (asparagus) or fish with bones, and that a glass of milk could fall over all by itself.

“Why does stuff go from ‘badder’ to ‘worser’ around here!” said Ruff Red, the little one whose elbow often started it all. He’d just spilled his glass of milk all over the table while trying to make a log cabin out of the green beans on his plate.