Every morning when my 2-1/2 and 6 year old sons rouse me from dreamland, it’s to some variation of boisterous breakfast related chanting. Being the type of mother I am, I consistently offer them morning meals of scrambled eggs and whole wheat toast, veggie omelets, whole grain waffles straight from the waffle iron, and healthy cereals with organic or soy milk and fresh fruit. I enjoy cooking in the morning, or any time for that matter. Chatting with my guys over a nutritious home cooked breakfast before we start our day is a practically unrivaled joy in my book. Every mother takes pride in knowing they’ve send their troops out into the world with full bellies, ready to tackle their little missions.
I’m sure you’re resisting the urge to call me Donna Reed or June Cleaver at this very moment. Go ahead… ask me where my apron and white pearls are. They’re tucked neatly
away in my “crazy drawer” beside my ridiculous whole grain morning fantasy. In reality, nine times out of ten, my brilliantly adorable little monsters choose chocolate chip Eggo waffles over anything that I offer them. I attempt to coerce and cajole them away from the evils of the bleached flour Eggos on a daily basis and fail miserably most every morning. The kicker is, not only do they choose the frozen waffles over my wholesome offerings, they won’t even accept them toasted. Frozen cold or 26 seconds in the microwave is the only way to go for my little cats. They are lucky they’re so cute.
To this day I have no clue how or when this habit started but much to my “granola girl” dismay, it’s showing no sign of breaking. I have no 
doubt that this is just the beginning of the Karmic retribution I expect to be blessed with over the coming years. The short time I’ve worked to repent myself as an adult probably isn’t going to save me from paying dearly for my childhood days of hell raising. The cute waffle nonsense will surely be a fond family story of mine well into their adult years. It will be in good company with my Mom’s many tales of my own childhood misadventures. By that time, I’m sure they will be begging me to cook them breakfast every chance they get!
In the end, I’m no June or Donna… I’m more of a Samantha or Lucy kind of Mom who keeps the pearls close at hand just in case. Tomorrow morning I plan to offer the cheeky scoundrels veggie omelets with bird seed bagels, right before I throw my arms up and dial up the “2,6, start” combo on the microwave. I’ll still twitch my nose every morning and hope for the 1 of 10 though.
Thirteen Moons 