How To Breakfast

It is, of course, the most important meal of the day.

I think.

I wouldn't know.

I like all meals. Big Breakfasts with bagels, cream cheese, eggs, toast (sourdough), bacon, roasted potatos, and bacon.

and coffee.

Lunch should be something all together frightening as if I was planning on waging war with my intestines. Dinner should be a banquet trifecta with massive amounts of protein, carbohydrates, and lots of broccoli. Lots of broccoli.

But I'm really not supposed to eat like that anymore, seeing as how I'd like to live just long enough to see my son land a front side kick-flip, and or take my wife to Europe at some point.

So now, since I'm older, and presumably in charge of the calorie intake of an entire household, it is of utmost importance that I supply my army with delicious and nutricious food stuffs so that I can send them on their way, so I can get enough quiet to try to write between episodes of West Wing, of which Netflix only gives me about ten seconds.

Pausing is for sissies.

Anyway . . . so it's lean protein and fiber for myself and my wife, and as many calories as I can shovel into the mouth of my stick figure nine year old.

Thank god for Frosted Cookie Sugar Flakes.

I also, during this time, have to set up their lunches so that over the next eight hours of their productive lives they don't starve to death or resort to cannabalism.

Breakfast is a process of manufacturing that would make Henry Ford proud. (That is . . . until Henry Ford realizes I'm not a Nazi and insists upon shunning me from the Vaterland)

Anyway . . . 

Step One: Getting up
Now my wife likes to get up about three to four hours early. This is for two reasons. One, she doesn't sleep very well, and two, hair care of the magnitude that she has to deal with everyday is not for the weak. Somedays her alarm will wake me up too, but I am not the early worm.

At about 7:00am she will start poking me in the face, get up get up get up, which will take her six or seven tries before I respond with human noises. I will remain angry and confused until about 7:30am.

First order of business (after I've finished doing my business) is coffee. If I haven't done anything wrong/stupid in a while, she will already have a pot brewing for me. It's a 1:10 ratio in favor of me making my own.

Once coffee is a brewing we go to step two.

Step Two: Frittata.
Since the goal is high protein, high fiber, and low carb, there is nothing like a well crafted frittata filled with black beans and spinach (to be topped with garlic salt and hot sauce).

To start, preheat the oven to 385. Saute the spinach until it looks inedible, add the beans and warm in the pan. Crack open 5 eggs, add some water, and scramble with a fork. Pour the scrambled yellow stuff on top of the spinach/beans and place the pan in the oven. Wait . . . and move on to step three.

Step Three: Tween Food.
Things he likes: Bagels, english muffins, apple slices, yogurt, toast with butter, toast with jam, oatmeal (as long as it doesn't have any chunks in it), egg whites, and sugary cereals.

Things he doesn't like: Whatever you make this particular morning.

This is the first time you will use big-boy words to describe your feelings.

You will say something like "Eat your FUCKING FOOD! Goddam It!"

You probably shouldn't. Doing so will likely elicit more crying and screaming and a stern look from your wife, but if you can't help yourself it's okay.

Step Four: Check the fritatta.
It still looks runny. Move on.

Step Five: Wife Lunch
A super serious/healthy lunch consisting of chopped kale, purple cabbage, black beans, chicken/tuna. Include in her lunch box salad dressing, and lots of toppings (Nuts and the like). Make sure you supply her with a fork. And top it all off with a bottle of water.

Don't forget the fork.

Step Six: Tween Lunch
This is so complicated that I simply do not have the time or the energy to go into much detail, but this particular morning he has been sent off with a turkey sandwich on a dinner roll, High-C Cherry flavor (which he will not drink), a box of raisins, a bag of cheeze-its, and a packet of cheese and crackers which have to be placed strategically throughout his knapsack in very particular pockets. He will either eat all of it, or almost none of it. There is almost no physical understanding of where he gets his energy from. Best to leave it up to god.

Step Seven: Frittata is done.
Make sure you remove the pan from the oven with an oven mitt, since the handle will be very hot. Also. pro tip, leave the oven mitt on top of the handle before you walk away, otherwise, you will forget how hot the handle is and you will burn yourself. This only took me thirteen times to discover.

The frittata is actually four servings, which you will discect with a spatula, placing one wedge on your wife's plate, one wedge on yours, and leave the other two for tomorrow morning.

Set the table with a fork, napkin, two kinds of hot sauce, three kinds of salt, and dig in.

Check your email and the Fantasy Footbal scores.

Step Eight: Up and Out
Your wife will recheck her lunch box, because of that one time you forgot the fork. She will gently kiss the back of your neck and tell you to keep your phone near you all day. She will then check her lunch box again, because of that one time when you forgot her fork, and dash out the door, unless she has any particular chores she would like you to attend to some time during the day.

You son will walk into the kitchen, look at the clock and say something like "Dad! We have to go!"

To which you will repsond "Then why don't you have your shoes on?"

Then he will run to his room for ten minutes while you sip your coffee and then come out flustered and impatient and still not wearing any shoes.

At this point you're just tired of being a responsible parent, so you get up, and stand by the doorway, mumbling "hurryuphuuryuphurryuphurryup . . . "

He will make a big show of how heavy his back pack is, then drag his feet to the car, all the while complaining that we're gonna be late, and you can just sit in the car quietly while the engine warms up and he's finished adjusting his seat belt.

There will be lots of silence until you get to the school and then you will kiss him on top of his beautiful head and tell him politely to get out of your car.

You will watch him struggle with his back-pack and then dash across the street without looking both ways and you will wonder what kind of person are you raising. That thought will last until he turns the corner and then you're on your way home.

When you get home, you will check your email and then make a decision between starting your blog or catching the new episode of Sonic Highways on HBO GO.

Either way.

Breakfast is served.

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