Breakfast of Champions
Last Sunday, the kids woke up ravenous. They had refused the dinner I cooked the night before, and ate their fill of the 'replacement food' I offered - peanut butter, yogurt and bananas, before sulking off to bed.
When the first kid rose at 6 o'clock, I pulled the blankets over my head and booted my husband out of bed to deal with the urchins. By 6:15, I was standing in the kitchen, sullen and grumbling over a cup of coffee. After a rousing choral performance from the kids of "We're Starving, and You're The Cook, Woman" I parked my dour self in front of the fridge and offered up options.
"Yogurt?"
"NO!"
"Cereal?"
"We are out. Duh."
"Yogurt?"
"We already said no."
"Oh, I was just trying it out because look! So easy! Ready to eat! Woo! Okay. Never mind."
"Toast? RIght, no. Okay."
"Eggs?"
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a weener.
Slurping my coffee and whisking the eggs a little more aggressively than strictly called for, I proceeded to slam down the cast-iron skillet on the stove. I dumped the eggs into the heated skillet and tossed the bowl into the sink with a satisfying crash. I continued to make exasperated noises, huffing and banging and sighing. Passive-aggressive cooking, at its finest.
I cooked up six eggs. The kids each ate one bite and were 'so full.' Apparently they didn't see me STANDING THERE COOKING MOMENTS AFTER BECOMING VERTICAL. Nay, they doth protest too much, and the good lady ranteth-ed and rageth-ed. And left the dishes for someone else to wash, in a martyr's folly. Like I wasn't going to end up washing them myself. Riiiight.
After flouncing out of the kitchen in a huff, I flounced right back in, and set the still-warm eggs on the floor for the dog to eat. That will show them! The dog was eternally grateful, and totally didn't talk back or declare herself full. She licked the plate. Good dog. That will teach those kids.
A scant hour later, there were moans of starvation ringing through the house. Pancakes! Must. Eat. Pancakes.
DId I learn my lesson with the eggs? No. Hell, I even offered them yogurt again, because I just don't learn.
Fifteen minutes later, I had a short stack working and enough batter to feed a village. You know what? They didn't really like'em. Not even with syrup. Because they were just too pancake-ish. Too pancaka. Too pan-poopie. Believe you me there was flouncing and huffing and wild predictions of them digging up roots to eat from the yard, of scavanging for berries because as y'all are my witnesses I was nevah cookin' again.
I banished them to the yard.
Another hour passed, and when the mewling started up again, I almost hurled a yogurt container at the first one through the door. Restraining myself, I ended up squashing the container in my fist, splooging Baby Yo all over my wrist in my fury at their audacity. You want what? Oh, no. Mommy don't cook that.
"Daaaaaddy! We're hungry!"
"Hey, let's get donuts!"
Any clue about who "good cop" is in our family?
I threw up my hands, and made another cup of coffee. The big kids went with Daddy, while my three year old stayed home with me, against her will. Which she made known. Ahem. MADE KNOWN.
She paced back and forth in the front yard, ponytail bobbing as she ranted about the injustice of being too small, too ill-tempered, too squirrelly to be trusted on a trip to the donut store. Then she heard my husband's car pull into the driveway, and like one of those cartoon pointer dogs, her entire body went momentarily rigid, nose pointed at the gate. As her siblings burst through, bearing a pink box of child-rev'em-up, she inexplicably seized the hem of her dress and yanked the whole thing over her head in one fluid motion, swung it around several times, and launched it into the wisteria bushes.
Everyone sort of froze, as she stood there with wild hair, in her pull-up, hands raised overhead in a two fisted salute. I sort of expected a voice-over shouting Gooooooooooooooal! It was very Brandi Chastain of her, and a fitting tribute to the arrival of a breakfast that the kids were guaranteed to eat.
Comments
Damn! Must put warning label on those things! Once again, I almost woke the baby in arms when reading: the dress move got me.
Crazy kids!
Posted by: Elaine | February 17, 2006 10:51 PM
Ha! Yeah, sometimes it's good for our mother egos to just START OUT with doughnuts and then act all smug while we sip our coffee that OUR kids eat what's put in front of them (dammit!).
Found you via your MommyBloggers site... I guess I'm another one of them-there mommy bloggers, so I've been enjoying the writing and spotlights and stuff - good community!).
Posted by: JustLinda | February 18, 2006 5:16 AM
Thank you for my great morning laugh to start the day! I'm so bad cop and have been heard to say lately "you're hungry? well maybe you'll think of that next time you are eating the wonderful dinner I made you and actually EAT!!!"
Posted by: Mega Mom | February 18, 2006 5:27 AM
I love it! The girl child is simply declaring victory over, well, possibly donuts? I also have a three year old (a boy), and sometimes he is just an open little book and sometimes he is a complete mystery.
Mmmm. Donuts.
Posted by: Contrary | February 18, 2006 6:22 AM
How do you keep from screaming?
Posted by: Sleepless Mama | February 18, 2006 7:51 AM
OMG! You are hysterical! Gotta love those kids of yours. Jenny you rock! Thanks for the laughs.
Posted by: Maria | February 18, 2006 10:06 AM
In my humble opinion, you are a very good writer. Really. This is good stuff. I love the image of the three year old in salute to donuts.Forget cooking, write more. Popcorn is a good filling breakfast food and you can make it the night before. I always start the day with popcorn.
Posted by: Vicki | February 18, 2006 10:25 AM
Scoooooooore!
Posted by: Stephanie A. | February 18, 2006 11:24 AM
Thank you for reminding me why Child #3 eats still-frozen Eggo waffles for breakfast semi-regularly. (What? She like 'em like that!)
Posted by: amy | February 18, 2006 11:38 AM
OMG, I actually have tears streaming down my face from trying not to have a breakdown from laughing!! Please, oh please, keep writing this stuff!!!!!
Posted by: Debby | February 18, 2006 1:25 PM
My son rarely, and sad to say I really mean RARELY gets a hot meal for breakfast. I'm just not a breakfast person, nor am I in the mood for picky eating first thing in the morning. Ben gets his choice of cold cereal, frozen french toast sticks, or a peanut butter bagel. And that's it! If he doesn't choose, I get to choose, and he doesn't like that.
Compared to me, you have the patience of a friggin' saint! I am impressed!
Posted by: Andie D. | February 18, 2006 7:21 PM
Thanks for the very entertaining read!
Posted by: benzismama | February 18, 2006 8:16 PM
That is exactly what would happen at our house. I am always the bad cop, Hubs is always the good cop. It's just not fair.
Posted by: Crazy Lady | February 18, 2006 9:05 PM
Ya gotta love that baby's spunk! You should have made Daddy take her, too! She is a big girl now, 3 yrs. old, and she just can't be excluded from these little run outs and you definitely deserve a momentary break from the cooking mania. Great peek into the 3 kid circus! Love ya all soooo much! Mom & Grandma to the circus
Posted by: Mommy Bommie | February 19, 2006 8:04 AM
Oh dude, you are SO whipped. Bad cop? YOu want bad cop? "There is cereal, there are bowls, there is milk which is more-or-less fresh. Enjoy. If you wake me again, you will be sorry." I never let on that breakfast was something one could cook. Hop in that way-back machine, Jenny!
Posted by: Deana | February 19, 2006 9:14 AM
The dress! The fists! So very funny.
Posted by: Susan | February 19, 2006 11:29 AM
You describe the scene so very well. Hilarious!
Posted by: Surcie | February 19, 2006 12:26 PM
Nice to know it's not just me who gives in and hits dunkin donuts. We were there today. Sigh. The coffee is so good though, and we have TWO of them right down the street. It's impossible to say "no".
Posted by: margalit | February 19, 2006 10:17 PM
Can I just tell ya that YOU ROCK!?!?!?! Your blog gives me the satisfaction of knowing that not only am I not the only crazed mama out there, but my kids aren't the only un-pleaseable little heathens out there!!! LOVE YA!
Posted by: Shanonn | February 20, 2006 9:05 AM
LMAO! This was great! I know I am not alone in the great feeding of the children issue!
Posted by: Lisa | February 20, 2006 1:05 PM
I laughed and laughed and laughed, *cough* and laughed and laughed and laughed, *wheeze* and then passed out. My unconciousness only lasted until I realized that my kids had no one to supervise them other than me. Rats!
Posted by: Erin | February 20, 2006 1:50 PM
I gots to know: did the dog get the pancakes, too?
FANTASTIC story, thank you...
Posted by: ben | February 20, 2006 2:08 PM
OMG, you are funny! And boy, can I relate!
Posted by: Donna | February 21, 2006 10:51 AM
That is SO wierd. I did the exact same thing when my husband brought home a Marble Mocha Macchiato on Saturday morning! Wow.
Posted by: Jenn2 | February 21, 2006 12:43 PM
Okay, I have got to say this is the second post of yours I have read and AGAIN I'm in tears with laughter. Thank you for telling it like it is and giving me hope that I will be able to deal with my daughters antics with laughter.
Posted by: Ashley's Mommy | February 21, 2006 11:26 PM
You are soooo much nicer than I am.
Posted by: Mamacita | February 22, 2006 8:20 PM
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