At Breakfast

I watched Katherine seat herself next to her mom with a bowl of oatmeal, watched her eat lost in her own merry thoughts. Her eyes wandered to mom's laptop and the baffling lure of the New York Times.

Katherine's spoon became a plaything, tracing circles in the breakfast bowl. She looked to mom, who looked still to the Times. Katherine made a ghost of her napkin, and the ghost soared and swooped. She looked to mom, who looked still to the Times.

A new strategy: a milk glass became a truck, the tablecloth a construction zone. She looked to mom. "Katherine, please eat your breakfast."

She smiled and returned with gusto to the oatmeal she wanted to eat.

"So that's what you do?" I asked her. "You don't eat even though you're hungry, because you want to make mom to talk? That's your strategy, your game?"

She smiled with pride not guilt. Me, too.