Image prompted in midjourney: A family of four dinner table, a bit messy, no people --style raw
Dinner at our house, with four almost-grownups, is never a quiet occasion. We are normal people (or so we try to be), but during dinner, it always seems to transform into a full-blown circus. As performers, we juggle food, arguments, laughter, and glasses of water that always seem to tip over at the worst possible moment. Last evening was no different.
My daughter refused to touch her fish because her brother had made a fish face, which apparently reminded her of the “animal behind the meal.” Before I could step in, my husband decided this was the perfect time to educate everyone on the importance of chewing thoroughly for good health. To close the debate, he, of course, made a fish face at my daughter, restarting the argument almost instantly.
Image prompt Midjourney: A plate during dinner with the leftovers of a fish, where the cat is trying to grab the fish
Meanwhile, the cat seized the opportunity to swipe a piece of fish off the table. My daughter laughed so hard that she almost fell off her chair. Suddenly, because the fish was no longer on her plate, it wasn’t “an animal” anymore, and she declared she was fine eating other pieces. This, naturally, prompted the men at the table to launch into a very serious lecture about the inconsistency of her thinking. At that point, I seriously considered eating outside in the pouring rain just to escape.
By the time dinner ended, the table looked like a mood board of shattered parental wisdom, floating on a layer of sauce and scattered pieces of potato. That’s always the cue for my children to suddenly remember they have homework. With a quick hug and a rushed “Thanks for dinner!” they magically vanish, leaving me alone to assess the battlefield.
Despite the chaos, those moments always bring a smile to my face. But, like every night, I crave a little silence afterward. My husband always helps me get the dishes to the kitchen, but the Tetris game of loading the dishwasher is my moment, my escape to be alone with my thoughts after surviving another family meal.
Image prompted in Midjourney: The dishes in the sink in the kitchen --style raw --s 250
As I was cleaning the sink, I found myself reflecting on these chaotic, imperfect moments that I strangely love so much. My mind, as it often does, wandered into an unexpected direction.
Do you ever wish you could be a fly on the wall, observing your own life as if it were a scene in a movie? I started wondering, what if someone else is watching all of this? Not with judgment, but with curiosity and maybe even nostalgia.
That thought took me to an article I read about the theory that aliens might actually be humans from the future. And if that’s true, maybe they’re not just observing us for fun, maybe they’re studying us like we’re ancient artifacts, living reminders of a time they’ve long since forgotten.
*Image prompted in Midjourney: Aliens looking at us like pieces on a history board --style raw --s 250
I wondered what they’d think about us. Would they laugh at our noisy dinners, our messy humanity, our absolute refusal to agree on anything (like how to load a dishwasher)? Would they find our chaos fascinating, like we do when reading about life in the past? Would they see the beauty in these moments, or would they think we had no idea how wonderful we had it?
The thought made me smile. Not just because of the story evolving in my head, but because I knew my family had no clue what was happening in my mind while I cleaned up their chaos. In my imagination, these “future humans” were strolling through the remnants of our dinner, marveling at what they’d lost, the laughter, the silly arguments, the unproductive yet heartwarming chaos that somehow serves as the foundation of family life.
I left the kitchen, still smiling, and joined my family in the living room. My husband asked if everything was okay. I just kissed him, snuggled up, and let the spontaneous story stay in my head.
But if the aliens, or anyone else, are watching and judging me for hiding a cookie behind the coffee machine for later, I’m sorry to say, that’s on you.
This thought might be a message to future humans, but to us as well. There will come a time when the chaos of these moments won’t feel like a struggle. Instead, they’ll be memories drenched in nostalgia that keep us smiling.
So, to the aliens, or future humans, or whoever might be looking back at us, take a good look. This is what it means to be alive in all its glory, messy, loud, imperfect, and filled with love. And maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what’s worth preserving.
Thanks to @caspermoeller89 for the subject of this blog via waves.
