There were also times during these
early mornings, when I’d rise early to shovel the snow for Dad before he left
for his workday, where I’d also be that
ambitious to also make him breakfast. I’m talking about a hot breakfast. One where I used mixing bowls (like these & especially this).
Typically, I’d do something with this & maybe also make up some eggs. At the time I really only had familiarity with making scrambled eggs, except for these. Dad was flexible with his eggs &, while he’s always had his preferences, he’s also always been fine with eating whatever variety he’s served. Actually, that’s about how that goes for most any food with him; he’s generally flexible & grateful for whatever’s available.
I remember one particular morning where I decided to make Dad breakfast. It went just fine like all the others normally did. Sometime afterward, probably just after Mom finished seeing Dad off to work, I happened to hear my brother saying to Mom about how he’d really been hoping for this hot breakfast to be the next morning.
I suppose he’d planned to probably suggest in the awkward, you’re-my-kid-sister-&-you’ll-probably-be-fine-with-it,-but-I’ve-still-got-to-ask,-&-maybe-you’ve-got-some-sort-of-current-adolescent-resentment-upset-right-now-where-you’d-rather-stick-it-to-me,-but-maybe-not,-I-don’t-know sort of way he normally would talk to me when the family sat around the dinner table together, that I might be willing to do this.
I also think that, as he realized I’d just done it that morning, there’d be such little likelihood that I’d do it again the following morning. Thus his quick discussion with Mom.
Mom quietly & calmly suggested that he ask me if I’d do it. He must’ve shrugged his shoulders & realized there still was that option.
Not too long later, I think before we even left for the school bus, he did ask me. He might’ve figured I’d not want to get up & get going quite so early again. He would’ve been thinking from a single-minded angle as he was the one that was difficult to get up & out of bed each morning, while I was the one oftentimes quite literally sitting around waiting for whichever late in the morning bus stop time I'd been assigned. In those days I'd not been good at ingenuity of these sorts & multi-tasking; I'd be too anxious. I'd not even think to be crocheting.
I remember same as I feel now about his request: Why not? No big deal to me. Might as well.
And so I did.
Two days in a row.
I got up much sooner than I needed to & mixed up everything for a nice hot breakfast.
I don’t think that these mornings amounted to more than a dozen of our childhood. With Dad typically being an in-the-moment casual, laid-back kinda guy, these random hot breakfast mornings were treated like just about any other.
Mom would do her best most mornings to sit with him. On her best days she’d get up before Dad headed downstairs to the kitchen & she’d begin preparing their respective hot beverages. This brand or this brand for Dad; this brand or this brand for Mom as manufacturer's coupons ran rampant for each of these. 😁 She’d get two microwavable mugs set-up with their contents & microwave them for a minute & a half; a 1, a 3, & a 0.
It wasn’t until years later, sometime during the college years, when, back in their kitchen, that she “proudly” showed how she’d begun pressing the 1, then the 3 – twice, for one minute & thirty-three seconds. She had true excitement (at least, generally speaking, it was a “chilled out” excitement) that she’d realized for a mere three more seconds, she’d not need to move her hand that far for the zero anymore; it was perfunctory. Yes, these were the days before the minute automatic button options were added as well as the “add thirty seconds” button option. 😍😂
Other mornings she struggled & didn’t share any of Dad’s “table time” with him. On at least one of these mornings when I bothered to pull this out from underneath the counter, or this out from the oven's drawer & get our hot breakfast going - probably that time my brother had asked for a hot breakfast the following school morning, that time, I do remember, despite Mom not being a morning person, she came downstairs to join us too.
Dad gave her a gentle razing exclaiming something like, “Well! Look who decided to come down & join us!” Which, with his “local” accent, sounded more like, “come dahn & join us!”
At some other point during that breakfast, as a compliment & thanks to me, while also still sort of razing Mom, Dad said to her, “Been trying to get these breakfasts for years. I didn’t think it would be our daughter beating her mother to the punch.” 😂
I don’t remember exactly who managed each of these days’ clean-up. I’m guessing Mom; she managed breakfast clean-up on ordinary school days. 😊
Typically, I’d do something with this & maybe also make up some eggs. At the time I really only had familiarity with making scrambled eggs, except for these. Dad was flexible with his eggs &, while he’s always had his preferences, he’s also always been fine with eating whatever variety he’s served. Actually, that’s about how that goes for most any food with him; he’s generally flexible & grateful for whatever’s available.
I remember one particular morning where I decided to make Dad breakfast. It went just fine like all the others normally did. Sometime afterward, probably just after Mom finished seeing Dad off to work, I happened to hear my brother saying to Mom about how he’d really been hoping for this hot breakfast to be the next morning.
I suppose he’d planned to probably suggest in the awkward, you’re-my-kid-sister-&-you’ll-probably-be-fine-with-it,-but-I’ve-still-got-to-ask,-&-maybe-you’ve-got-some-sort-of-current-adolescent-resentment-upset-right-now-where-you’d-rather-stick-it-to-me,-but-maybe-not,-I-don’t-know sort of way he normally would talk to me when the family sat around the dinner table together, that I might be willing to do this.
I also think that, as he realized I’d just done it that morning, there’d be such little likelihood that I’d do it again the following morning. Thus his quick discussion with Mom.
Mom quietly & calmly suggested that he ask me if I’d do it. He must’ve shrugged his shoulders & realized there still was that option.
Not too long later, I think before we even left for the school bus, he did ask me. He might’ve figured I’d not want to get up & get going quite so early again. He would’ve been thinking from a single-minded angle as he was the one that was difficult to get up & out of bed each morning, while I was the one oftentimes quite literally sitting around waiting for whichever late in the morning bus stop time I'd been assigned. In those days I'd not been good at ingenuity of these sorts & multi-tasking; I'd be too anxious. I'd not even think to be crocheting.
I remember same as I feel now about his request: Why not? No big deal to me. Might as well.
And so I did.
Two days in a row.
I got up much sooner than I needed to & mixed up everything for a nice hot breakfast.
I don’t think that these mornings amounted to more than a dozen of our childhood. With Dad typically being an in-the-moment casual, laid-back kinda guy, these random hot breakfast mornings were treated like just about any other.
Mom would do her best most mornings to sit with him. On her best days she’d get up before Dad headed downstairs to the kitchen & she’d begin preparing their respective hot beverages. This brand or this brand for Dad; this brand or this brand for Mom as manufacturer's coupons ran rampant for each of these. 😁 She’d get two microwavable mugs set-up with their contents & microwave them for a minute & a half; a 1, a 3, & a 0.
It wasn’t until years later, sometime during the college years, when, back in their kitchen, that she “proudly” showed how she’d begun pressing the 1, then the 3 – twice, for one minute & thirty-three seconds. She had true excitement (at least, generally speaking, it was a “chilled out” excitement) that she’d realized for a mere three more seconds, she’d not need to move her hand that far for the zero anymore; it was perfunctory. Yes, these were the days before the minute automatic button options were added as well as the “add thirty seconds” button option. 😍😂
Other mornings she struggled & didn’t share any of Dad’s “table time” with him. On at least one of these mornings when I bothered to pull this out from underneath the counter, or this out from the oven's drawer & get our hot breakfast going - probably that time my brother had asked for a hot breakfast the following school morning, that time, I do remember, despite Mom not being a morning person, she came downstairs to join us too.
Dad gave her a gentle razing exclaiming something like, “Well! Look who decided to come down & join us!” Which, with his “local” accent, sounded more like, “come dahn & join us!”
At some other point during that breakfast, as a compliment & thanks to me, while also still sort of razing Mom, Dad said to her, “Been trying to get these breakfasts for years. I didn’t think it would be our daughter beating her mother to the punch.” 😂
I don’t remember exactly who managed each of these days’ clean-up. I’m guessing Mom; she managed breakfast clean-up on ordinary school days. 😊
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