For breakfast I prepared what I prepare best, cold cereal. I know, it’s sad and you saw it coming. It’s a reality I have to face. My wife’s eggs are fluffier, her bacon is crispier and that whole “But I made it with love” bit doesn't make the toast I prepare any less burnt.
“What’s your poison boys?” is what I call out as I view my vast selection of fruity loops and frosted flakiness. Believe it or not men, I do have an influence on what is bought at the grocery store, and ever since I’ve been letting my sleeping beauty sleep a little longer most mornings breakfast has been a wonderfully sugary adventure.
“I’d like some Raisin Bran, dad”, is the response my four yr old gives me. Clearly this is his mother’s recent influencing, and also means I better have the raisin bran as well. Guilt, it’s such a Catholic thing. I pour us both a bowl and make some oatmeal-cereal-fluff for the baby. I also throw a few Cheerios on his high chair tray, which is my own personal touch to breakfast. The baby pushed out a fifth tooth last week and has been anxious to use it as often as possible. We once had to dog-sit for my sister-in-law and her tiny, hairy rat chewed up the legs of most of my furniture. That pooch can be considered toothless compared to the piranha that is my baby boy. The T.V. remote control is missing a few buttons and there are now holes on top of my shoes to match the ones on bottom. So, each morning I try to ease his sharp apatite with a Cheerio or two.
It has to be obvious, even to the youngest of my boys, that I’m a mess in the kitchen. However, they don’t appear to be fearful, but rather may actually be getting a kick out of watching me muddle through our new routine. Their toothy smiles and laughs also put me at ease with the whole Morning-Mr. Mom situation. What a way to start my day. I highly recommend it, soggy cereal and all.
Before I realize it the boys are fed, I’m dressed, the real Mama is up, and I have to head out to work. It’s a blessed day already.
Blessings,
Michael
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