one of my favorite cartoons, via The New Yorker
Last night, I couldn't make it down the hallway when Sophie started seizing at the dinner table. It was almost a mental lassitude that made me stop halfway and place her on the floor. The hallway is narrow, and when Henry ran to get a pillow from the sofa for under her head, I knelt beside her and grabbed her hand as it hit the wall. Oliver stood in the doorway with an expression that I would call the expression a ten year old child has when he's used to watching his older sister seize during dinner since she has done so his entire life. We were eating chicken and green chili tamales, pinto beans and tomatillo salsa. They were excellent, and everyone was happy. There were even enough to have in lunchboxes the next day, a welcome deviance from the usual turkey and cheese, peanut butter and jelly. Oliver stood in the doorway and said How come we can't just have a normal dinner? How come all my friends get to have normal dinners? This doesn't happen at Nick's house. We just eat our dinner and nothing happens. I nodded my head and agreed. Sophie's seizure stopped and she sat up, seemingly impervious. We went back in the kitchen, sat down and finished our tamales.