School has begun. We are in full swing. 6:40 wake up time for her, means that my husband has had to (well actually, chosen to, God bless him) wake up an hour earlier then his typical “roll out of bed and shower” 20min prior to his own departure. He wakes her, he helps her get dressed, makes sure her morning breath is gone (6 year old morning breath is real, yo), and brushes her hair. Then she appears.
From around the corner, she prances. The kid who I NEVER thought would become a morning person. NEEEVVVEERR. And now she is just that. A bouncy little morning bird, full of joy and excitement as her sweet new school day is here. Everyday is so exciting. She’s in first grade. She loves it.
There I am. In the kitchen. I need a bed and a bathroom in my kitchen. I pretty much live there as it is, but now I am there extra early in the morning. For a good reason. I am cooking her breakfast.
I grew up in an Italian American household, where events with our immediate and extended families always revolved around food. Both sides actually (because Germans can eat, too). Food meant fellowship. Loud talking. Sitting around for hours bringing up hot topics and arguing. Grabbing another glass or cup or plate. Repeat. It goes back to my roots. I grew up with a family who cooked, and I love to cook. I joke that food delivery to others is my love language. If that’s possible. There is actually an entire psychology of eating (yes, I took this class in college and LOVED it), and you can read gobs of info on how important it is to incorporate family meals into your week, even if you only can fit in one or two. Sharing food with others is in our human nature.
So now, back to why I am sharing this post. I love serving my kiddo via a meal in the morning. I also know not everyone is able to do this, for many reasons, and I am learning to cherish this 30min span of time before Ms. Judy pulls up in that big ole school bus. I know she is eating something balanced, something hot (usually), something she enjoys, and something that will fuel her little *nonstop* brain. We talk about her day ahead. What she is looking forward to and maybe even something she is excited about later when she gets home. We may not be loud talking (because no one wants to wake the 2nd born) or going up for seconds or thirds, but I am serving her needs (food), and she is serving my needs (the joy that comes from watching her scarf down her bagel egg sandwich and grapes).
I have vivid memories of my mama cooking for my sister and I. My *carbalicious* favorite was cinnamon butter toast. If mom shoved the cinnamon, sugar, butter combo in a crescent roll, it was extra delish. I am trying to soak up these moments.
One day I know I will wake up, and she will have beat me to the kitchen. She may have made herself an egg, or grabbed a random plethora of goodies from the fridge, all before I can turn on the stove. Her hair will be brushed and her teeth clean (without daddy reminding her to brush them). She will be rushing around, finishing last minute homework and packing clothes for after school activities. Someday I won’t be cooking her breakfast.
So for now, I cook. We talk. She eats. I want her to ‘let’ me cook her breakfast, even if for just one more time.
Well, I know who is waking up early to make their kiddos breakfast tomorrow! That would be me! Thanks for sharing this simple but so, so beautiful routine.
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