I heard the birds singing outside, I smiled at the morning. My tummy was rumbling as I imagined us sitting together at the table in a few moments. I visualized a table full of happy kids, enjoying this sweet treat, mouths full and chewing happily. I saw in my picture the steam rising off my plate, carrying the inviting aroma of a beautiful partnership of cinnamon swirl and maple syrup to my nostrils, and I looked forward to that first bite, and then the next bite and the next one.
But then breakfast was ready. I think the smell of the food woke up some sleeping monster inside everyone. All of a sudden, my house sounded like a war zone, with many voices all at once competing for highest volume as the demands flew at high velocity in my general direction.
"Can I have syrup on mine?"
"I want butter"
"No I wanted THAT piece"
"No, I don't want to sit there. I want to sit beside Turtle"
"Why do I have to do everything myself?!"
"Are the dishes in the dishwasher clean?"
"Hey, that's MY cup"
"Why can't I have orange juice?"
And as the tension level in the room increased, and I gave a longing glance at my empty plate and wiped some sweat from my brow, the kids spoke ever faster and louder to ensure their particular request would be met in a timely manner. And so it continued.
"Can you cut mine up into pieces"
"I didn't want that kind of syrup"
"I dropped the lid and can't find it"
"I wanted mine in square shapes, not rectangles!"
"I it. I it" (from Turtle)
"How come she gets two pieces?"
"I want the red plate"
"No *I* want the red plate"
"Mummy, can you pour it?"
"I need to pee, make sure Zoe doesn't eat my French toast"
"I said I don't want butter"
Eventually I got to sit down and eat some too (yes, it was cold by then). Why haven't they figured out a way to clone mothers yet? It would make some things so much easier.