We have a delightful tradition in this here Craig Family where our children take turns making breakfast. It’s a genius arrangement, devilishly devised by my wife, who has taught our children that preparing breakfast will instill in them accountability and life skills, while she has actually concocted this scheme in order to allow her and I to stay in bed longer in the morning. (Sometimes Katie is so smart, I’m a little bit afraid of her.)
And truth be told, our children love it. Well, not every morning. Does anyone love buttering toast with butter freshly out of the fridge, hard as a rock? It’s not picnic to eat that toast either – shredded with giant holes in the middle of it. Like we’re some kind of animals!?
Anyway, our kids have made a real game out of it by insisting that breakfast time is “restaurant time.” So whoever is over breakfast that day, it’s their place. You’ll often hear “Hi! And welcome to Abbie’s Café,” or “Hi, is this your first time to Connor’s Cannery?”
We actually have to wait at the bottom of the stairs, to be seated. Then, once seated (at the kitchen table), we are told by our host or hostess, “We always have a prayer with our guests before ordering.” We say prayer, and then the host or hostess tells us “The Special” of the day – which is, of course, the only thing on the menu.
“Today’s special is … a giant plate of pancakes, with bacon.”
“Today we have whole wheat toast, with a variety of freezer-jams, plus fried eggs.”
Or, on those busy days…
“We have an assortment of cold cereals today; can I set you right up?”
We place our order, and as our host or hostess retrieves the food, we make as much witty banter as we can to each other. This is our opportunity to crack wise.
“I’ve heard great things about this restaurant.”
“Yes, and the bathrooms have reading material in them!”
“Oh, this host, he is the BEST in the city. I don’t even care that he wears his pajamas to work.”
“Oh, this host, he is the BEST in the city. I don’t even care that he wears his pajamas to work.”
It’s an amusing and lazy way to start the day, and I approve this message.
Then, today.
I had to run an early morning errand, and while en route back to the house (a.k.a. Garren’s Grub), I received a text from my almost 11-year old son/host, Garren, who has impeccable spelling skills, but not so much with the texting on his mom’s phone.
“Breckfart is ready.”
As I walked in the door, he had a smirk on his face and said, “That’s not what I meant to type.” But it was too late. When it came time for the witty banter, I was ready.
“Smells like the special today is rotten eggs!”
“Gosh, you get a lot of wind blowing around in this restaurant.”
“Could you put cheese on my eggs? Not shredded. I’d like you to cut the cheese.”
“You know, I like eggs – but with all that cholesterol. It’s deadly. Silent…but deadly.”
“Are you serving any “magical fruit” this morning? You know, the more you eat, the more you –” (Katie did not allow me to finish that one.)
So, if you’re in the neighborhood, and you’d like to stop in sometime, the restaurant is open for business. But you’ll definitely need a reservation. And please remember, it’s currently only open for breckfart.
