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day 36: fronsh toast

March 9, 2011

First of all, I want to express my gratitude for your words of encouragement, your emails, and your steadfast support as I’ve clumsily trudged along this “a gift a day” path for the past 36 days.  Some days, just knowing you are tuning in to my foibles keeps me going.  You keep me honest.

Having said that, I think it’s time for an honest confession:

I hate cooking breakfast.

I mean, I absolutely want my family to begin their days with bright smiles and full bellies.  In many ways, I want to be her

(minus the weird brilliantined mullet and hideous dress), but the whole idea of cooking in the morning kind of grosses me out.  In addition to abhorring cooking smells before 8 a.m., typically mornings find me  scrambling (not eggs) to get the children, myself, and our house ready for the day…  and that’s on days my darling husband makes a smoothie for me and I pour dry Cheerios for my kids.  The hot breakfasts of choice in our house are pancakes or french toast, the making and eating of which tend to create an unholy cacophony of spilled syrup, batter droplets, and sticky handprints on kitchen chairs.

On so many days, I am selfish.  I have a lazy streak three miles wide.

But on Day 36, a Tuesday, I surprised my husband and children with french toast in the middle of the week.  My husband — who rarely eats much in the morning — devoured two big slices.  My four year-old, his face sticky with syrup, said, “Mmmmm… this is what they eat in France.”  My toddler opted out of silverware and chose instead to immerse his face in the warm, gooey deliciousness on his plate.

It was an unbelievably sweet disaster, and it was my gift to my unfathomably messy — and deeply loved — men.

Some of you have read this post with wrinkled brows.  “Wait…  that’s it?  Cooking breakfast for her family is her gift on Day 36?  But I do that every morning!  In an apron!  With a brilliantined mullet!  And a terrifying grin on my face!”

If I were wearing a hat, it would be off to you (I might also ask you for advice on how to organize my junk drawer and how to remove black tempera paint from beige carpet).  Since I am not, I will merely repeat my mumbled mantra (“think small… think small… think small…”), and keep arm-wrestling with my lazy nature.

May your day be soggy with syrup and butter.  Thank you, my friends, for showing up.

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