And speaking of breakfast, I have to tell you this story. My day of birth was a Friday this year. That evening my five year old, Mudslide Sydney, came to me thoughtfully, "Mommy if I were you, I'd have breakfast in bed tomorrow morning. I will fix you a snack plate (his ideal meal) and Long-Legs (brother aged 8) will cook you scrambled eggs and make the coffee." I'm thrilled with this idea. I give Long Legs a coffee brewing review, and he informed me that he's not ready to make eggs by his unsupervised, eight year old self. But coffee sure.
The next morning, I try out sleeping in. I hear them talking and rattling around in the kitchen. Half hour later, there's a big shout. Apparently the puppy stood up against the counter and managed to EAT half of Mommy's special breakfast. Older son is ticked off. Younger son, very industrious, just remakes the sandwich.
Breakfast is served! Complete with card. It's artistically arranged into a smiley face with parsley eyes, and carrot teeth. Photo of breakfast in bed caused the cat to leap awkwardly away, and watery coffee to be spilled all over the bed, sogging my sandwich, which I then eat, calmly and very gratefully.
"Tastes better with coffee, doesn't it, Mommy?" Yes, of course!
I tell you honestly, it was everything breakfast in bed should be- complete with mishaps and rhythmic gymnastic ribbon dancing entertainment.