It started, as so many of my days do lately, with tiny food.

The little girls recently introduced me to Miniverse , a resin-based universe designed specifically to consume the free time of unsuspecting mothers. At first I was just helping. Then somehow I found myself emotionally invested in miniature food. Now I’m making tiny cafés, tiny animals, tiny bakery displays, tiny everything. 

One minute I was running a sprinkler business. The next I was standing in my kitchen at eleven pm, seriously debating where a resin croissant should be displayed in a Barbie café.

Kris walked in at some point, looked at the café, looked at me, and said nothing. He’s learned.

I don’t know how this happened. It’s possible I’ve lost control of my life, which is impressive, considering I was already deeply involved in what can only be described as the American Girl Doll Cult. At this point I’m one resin chandelier away from accidentally opening a tiny business inside my actual business.

So that was the day. Then came the night, which involved real food, in regular sizes, eaten by people taller than my Barbies.

We wanted to take the kids  to the grand opening of Sweet Frog. The plan was simple: frozen yogurt, family time, maybe one semi-healthy decision disguised beneath enough toppings to cancel out any nutritional value it ever had. The little girls were delighted. There is apparently no greater joy in childhood than being handed a cup and told “put whatever you want in it.” 

Watching them debate toppings was like watching tiny stockbrokers manage retirement accounts…a sprinkle here, a gummy bear there, a very serious negotiation over whether one needs both Oreos and cookie dough. The answer, according to children, is always yes. 

Lynnlee informed me, with the gravity of someone closing a merger, that cookie dough “isn’t a topping, it’s a foundation.”

The teens came too, which is rare these days. Everyone is busy. Everyone has their own schedules, their own friends, their own lives. So when everybody’s together, you don’t ask questions. You just take it.

We were already downtown, so we decided to grab dinner first and save the yogurt for after, at the little Mexican restaurant we’ve been going to since before our house was even finished, back when Royse City wasn’t really home yet, back when Justin and Hailey were in middle school and Lynnlee had just turned two.

And that’s where it got me. Sitting there with chips and salsa, I looked around the table and realized none of those people exist anymore. Not literally, they’re all still here. But Justin is getting ready for college. Hailey drives herself places now. Lynnlee is creeping toward seven and reads books that make me question whether she’s secretly been attending school behind my back. Even Harper isn’t really a toddler anymore.

The years didn’t leave all at once. They left quietly. One school year, one birthday, one dance recital, one random Tuesday at a time.

We finished dinner and went back for the yogurt, because the plan was the plan, and I am nothing if not committed to a bit. I sat there with my cup, which by that point was sitting like a tiny monument to my complete lack of self-control. 

I’d started with good intentions, fruit, maybe a light drizzle of something. Then I found the marshmallow cream. And once marshmallow cream enters the conversation, all healthy decision-making leaves the building. There was no nutritional argument left to make. I knew it. The cup knew it. No regrets. Worth every bite.

What struck me wasn’t the food, though. It was the feeling, the laughter, the conversations about color guard, the comfort of everyone simply existing together for a couple of hours.

For the first time in a while, work feels okay. Not perfect, not easy. Just okay. The floor went unswept. The world kept spinning anyway. I crawled into bed before one in the morning, which I immediately spent answering messages and writing, because apparently I’m incapable of complete relaxation. 

Progress. Growth. Maturity. Or exhaustion. Honestly, it’s hard to tell.

But here’s what I keep coming back to: the dishes can wait. The floor can wait. The work will still be there tomorrow. The tiny croissants will still need curing on the counter. 

But these dinners, these random family outings, these moments where everyone is laughing at the same table…those don’t wait forever.

So tonight I chose marshmallow cream. I chose chips and salsa. I chose Miniverse projects and a kitchen table full of people who used to be smaller.

Honestly? It was one of the healthiest choices I’ve made all week.