Breakfast? Together?

Breakfast and lunch at my house are staggered catch-as-catch-can affairs. We eat what we want, when we want, usually on our own. Our morning and midday meals are lessons in foraging and creativity. There’s no secret recipe. The hungry party stares into an open refrigerator hoping to find something more appealing than leftovers.

A bygone era

Weekends meals in our house are a stark contrast to our weekend family breakfasts when I was a kid. There was no foraging back then. Breakfasts were lively, Rockwell-eque portraits featuring all eight of us sitting at the same table, passing platters of food, while laughing and discussing the day’s plans.

Hah. Like that happened. A more likely scenario was arguments over who had a bigger slice of something or yelling at the person kicking under the table.

When I was a kid, family breakfasts involved spilled milk, weary parents, and at least an hour’s worth of preparation. In the late 60’s and early 70’s there was no quick way to feed six kids, two parents, and various and sundry pets. Sometimes we dragged ourselves away from cartoons to help. As we grew older and more helpful, we were experts at assembly line cooking.

My mother has more patience for assembly lines and spilled milk than I do. Even though I’m only cooking for three, the idea of making breakfast for everyone seemed more of a novelty or characteristic of a bygone era than something I wanted to do every weekend.

All that changed two weeks ago when I thought it would be a hoot to whip up a Sunday family breakfast.

Humor me, please

My family’s confusion was clear.

“What’s with all the eggs?” My 14-year-old son asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m making breakfast.” I responded.

“For everyone?”

“Yes. Everyone.”

“We’re not doing this every week, are we?”

I smiled and set out breakfast.

We had a lovely meal. At first there was some bewilderment at having to sit down together and eat the same food. But we made it work and a good time was had by all. We talked and laughed. We especially laughed at the concept of my cooking up Sunday breakfast, something my family only experiences when we spend the night at Grandma’s.

I took a second shot at a Sunday breakfast this morning. My family was again confused, though not at the idea of breakfast. They already humored me with this breakfast business once before and here I was making it a regular thing.

I set out homemade banana muffins and bacon. “Breakfast will be ready as soon as the coffee’s done,” I informed my family as I walked to the sink to rinse dishes.

“Why aren’t you sitting down, Mom?” My son asked not two minutes later, his mouth full of muffin.

I turned to see half the bacon gone and my husband and son on their second muffins.

“Because I was making coffee for everyone. “ I reminded him. “Which is why I said ‘we can eat as soon as the coffee is ready.’ “

I continued. “You see, I make these announcements because if I don’t you’ll both finish eating before I even sit down. If I sit down to an empty table, it defeats the purpose of the family breakfast. I know we’re new to this, but common courtesy applies.”

“Yeah, Tim.” My husband said, passing off blame as he reached for more bacon.

“Yeah, Dad.” My son shot back as he buttered his muffin.

I served coffee and sat down at the counter. “Baby steps, Deb.” I said to myself. “Baby steps.”