Comfort Food?

Lately, when Jane is embarrassed or sad, she hides. Usually she carves out a little nook of pillows beside the couch. Sometimes she builds herself a little shame tent out of blankets. Occasionally, she ducks under the table.

Today at lunch, she reminded herself of an incident earlier in the day where she accidentally knocked over a dish and broke it. It was in no way her fault, but she felt pretty bad. Even the memory made her feel guilty.

Jane: I broke bowl. I sorry.

Me: It's OK, sweetie. It was an accident.

Under the table she went.

We tried to coax her out over the next couple of minutes. After a while, a hand shot up over the edge of the table like a periscope. It skillfully guided itself to Jane's plate, grabbed a piece of cheese, and retreated to its hiding place under the table.

Erin: I think she may be feeling a bit better.

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