Every Friday, my family eats dinner together. My mother usually makes vegetable soup, and my father brings home fresh bread from a small shop near his office. My younger brother, Rafi, and I set the table. I take four plates from the cupboard, and Rafi puts a spoon beside each plate. He likes to put the blue glass at his own place. It looks just like the other glasses, except for a tiny white mark near the top. Somehow, he always finds it first.
When everyone sits down, my father asks us to share one thing about our week. Sometimes Rafi has so much to say that his soup gets cold. I usually need a little more time to think. My mother asks questions that help me tell the rest of the story. If I say that a group project is difficult, she asks which part is difficult. By the time I answer, I often have a better idea of what I need to do next.
After dinner, Rafi and I clear the table. He carries the plates to the sink, and I put the leftover soup in the fridge. We take turns washing the dishes. When it is my turn, Rafi dries the dishes and puts them away. His blue glass always goes at the front of the shelf. He says he puts it there to save time next Friday, but I think he just likes to see it every time he opens the cupboard.
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