A kitchen bustling with activity, lit with the glow of evening sunshine. Onions and red peppers sizzle on the frying pan while sesame-oriental seasoned tofu roasts in the oven. Sugary-sweetness rises from the chocolate chip cookie dough the boys are helping me make. There are giggles from the conspirators as I allow them a taste of the forbidden uncooked dough, before supper.
Conversation flows easily, with plenty of laughter, while I teach the boys to roll the dough into balls between their hands. It mostly washes around me, and I pick out select phrases and watch body language and hand gestures to get the gist of the Spanish discussion. Now and then Maite translates in one direction or another, as I generally cannot summon up a comment in the correct language before the discussion has moved on to another topic. But that’s alright. I enjoy listening.
Supper is more of the same, with the boys enthusiastically singing snippets from Madagascar and the adults trading stories while the sun sets. Cameron tastes curry zucchini soup and declares it yummy – until the spices register, and he politely declines more. He asks to be excused from the table, please. The adults (Maite’s parents and their friends) try the cookies, but are clearly unimpressed with unsubtle flavour of the American classic cookie. The boys, however, love them.
Home. Sleepy. Tired from listening and thinking so hard. Time for bed!