A few days ago, Mr. Wonderful and I were at the grocery store, picking up a few things to get us through the weekend. As we strolled through the dairy aisle, he put eggs and biscuits in the cart, saying that with all the kids at home, it would be nice to have breakfast together this weekend.
During the school/work week mornings go at a pace just short of a frenzy. The first round of alarm clocks goes off before 5:30, the first round of waking up kids at 6:00, and the first carpool run leaves the driveway at 6:30. To have an organized meal on these days would require an even earlier wake-up, and since we value sleep here as much as food, grab-and-go breakfast during the 30 minute commute to school has become the norm.
Our kids go to “academically advanced” schools, and they work really hard (4 years of Latin hard). Harder than Mr. Wonderful and I ever dreamed of working in high school. (OK, harder than we worked in college, but don’t tell the kids that.) They make good grades, stay out of trouble, and basically, do what we ask of them. So when we have the chance to do so, we like to let them have some latitude.
Which brings me to breakfast.
We never eat breakfast together anymore. I mean, hot breakfast, served at the table. (Don’t call social services yet on me… we have lots of food in the house. As I write, Mr. Wonderful is whipping up waffles for The Little Guy.) He and I have had coffee, and Slick is still up in his room, either still sleeping or playing Xbox quietly (so we don’t know he’s awake and demand that he come down for breakfast). The Trailblazer spent the night out, so that chair’s empty, too. I guess the eggs and biscuits will have to wait for another day.
Maybe we’ll have breakfast for dinner. I can usually get them to show up for that meal.