A Tale of Two Breakfasts

As I eat my breakfast of spicy mustard on a hotdog I'm reflecting on what and how my boys eat their own morning meal. As with many other things, the two could not be more different in their preferences.

The oldest takes breakFAST according to the strictest sense of the word and wants to be able to get up and go. Most days of the week, this bugs me. I want him to sit down to eat a nice big helping of pancakes or eggs or waffles or bacon. (Yes, I'm that weird.) But he prefers the style of the "walking breakfast". This is a term we stole from our princesses. They call a pop tart (though be it an organic one) a walking breakfast. But our family branched out. Walking breakfast at our house is quite literally anything you can walk and eat at the same time. Dogs need not apply.

The two days of the week that I appreciate this sentiment are school days. We have an issue with tardiness already, so the fact that he would rather nibble on cornflakes as he mosies to school is a relief to me. He requests this breakfast as he's pulling on shoes and socks and strapping on his backpack.


In the flurry of getting ready to take Cooper to school Mason is a small, quiet, still spot in the mix. His hair is usually all crazy and his eyes still a little puffy from sleep. He doesn't ask for any breakfast at all. He patiently walks to and from the school with us. On the way back he usually smells and often picks every flower he sees. Then when we get home he perks up and declares he is ready for his breakfast.


As a rule he picks scrambled eggs. If there are none in the house he settles for other things -- but always something with a little more heft and few thousand more calories. He likes his banquet, but only if he can first help me prepare it. Unaided and without prompting he hunts down his footstool and scoots it up close to the countertop. He helps crack the eggs, shred the cheese, toast the bread. Then he scurries over to his favorite bar stool and waits.

He generally eats every scrap he's presented with. Never a word to me about the day ahead, or the dream he had. Just eats. When he's finished he sighs a big sigh, pushes away from the table and sometimes comes and gives me a hug. He enjoys the drawn out experience of eating his favorite fare.

And for my part, I enjoy having breakfast twice.