Soup To Spoon

I like to imagine what Michael Phelps's mom hears when he approaches the end of the finish line.

The volume of the audience declines.

The air molecules turn still.

Amplified are the sounds of her son's splash and breath until his hands grip that wall.

Just two months ago, Dublin had the patience for two to three spoonfuls.

The sounds of soup to spoon,

soup to spoon,

soup to spoon were once punctuated with soup to table bangs and defeated grunts.

Today, however, I listen to soup to spoon for several bites. 

No table bangs.

No defeated grunts.

The air molecules in my house slow.

Amplified are the sounds of my son's determination; they capture my focus.

 I delight as he approaches the end of his first,

second,

and third bowl, which is why I have a first, second, and third video. 

The leaks and potatoes get in his way in the first, which makes me giggle.

....sometimes a little dude has gotta use some subversive strategies to get what he wants in his soup to his spoon!