dinner

Last night I had dinner with my parents and my two foster brothers. I had gotten in on the train in the morning and was just meeting the little six-year-old for the first time. I was enjoying supper; there were potatoes and sausage and fun conversation. Mom was going to pour some milk and my little foster brother wanted some, but then exclaimed to my her:

"Hey! You've got my glass!" His mug said "Army brother." Mom's said "Navy Dad." They switched. Then I noticed that my other foster brother's mug said "Army sister" and my dad's "navy mom." I think everybody had the wrong mug. I had a foster care mug.

I think things have changed since I was young. The six-year-old had taken too many sausages and couldn't finish them. So mom took them and he took more salad. I remember once sitting at the table for hours being forced to finish my spaghettios.

Afterwards I learned that Katie will get a bigger part of the inheritance because she always said "thank you very much for dinner; it was very good" after every meal. If I had known that, I would have been more polite, too. The six-year-old liked dinner, too. According to him it was

"very good! better than a.......chicken leg!"