Pancake Breakfast

The hubs informed me that he thought it was a good idea if once or twice a week, we got up early and all had breakfast together as a family. My immediate thought was, “ghaahh… what? early? breakfast? cooking?”  I love my kids more than anything, but my idea of a healthy breakfast is eating a piece of toast wrapped in a paper napkin while running out the door. And my idea of morning is to lie in bed until the last possible second, sipping coffee with eyelids half open. I can get ready faster than anyone you’ve ever seen and it suits me to laze about and ease gently into the day.

So I said, “yeah, yeah,” and then hoped he’d forget his great idea, but then he reminded me last night as we went to bed, so I said “wake me up and I’ll make pancakes.” It sounded like an awesome, motherly thing to do at 10 p.m. at night and I had pancake mix so it also sounded easy. But at 6:30 a.m. I wasn’t as excited and I wondered why I had so many darn kids in the first place and why they wanted pancakes at 6:30 IN THE MORNING!

In retrospect, I’m not sure that they did want them, as they were mostly sitting dazed at the table with massive bed-head, looking puzzled at why they were awake so early, but the hubs and I were chipper and we served o.j. and chocolate milk with verve and pizzazz! In true Martha Stewart fashion, I offered the children their choice of pancakes; blueberry or plain and after much bartering on their part, I relented and made some with chocolate chips. ‘Cause that’s just the kind of good mother I am. Laters.

Perfect Sense

A small peek inside my head.

This morning while waiting on the train:

“Should I have worn boots? I have awesome new boots! I don’t know, is it too hot for boots? It’s cold now but it might warm up later, but then my legs would be hot all day, and these jeans aren’t right for boots anyway. Way to go, you buying those awesome boots on sale in July when no one thinks of boots. Are my skinny jeans clean? ‘Cause I’d have to wear those with the boots. Shoot! Laundry, I should have started a load before I left. Left, eek! I left my book at home, what to do, what to do on the train now? Do I have towels in the dryer?  Great, I didn’t give Sher lunch money. Should I have worn boots? I don’t know, is it too hot for boots? Oh, look here’s the train” ** slurps coffee**  Laters.

Last Time?

Breast MRI yesterday, which was exactly one year since the last and final lumpectomy. In typical fashion, I couldn't help but second guess all my treatment decisions while I was stuffed into the tube with the knocking and clicking, wondering if I had done enough, been aggressive enough. Still have a headache from all the noise, but no I.V. bruise which is a miracle. If I get the "all clear," then I suspect the worry wort in my brain will start to settle down a bit and I'll be able to put it all behind me. That sounds good. A year is long enough to deal with that kind of stuff. What I need now is a year of good things, like shoe shopping every day and lattes delivered to my desk every morning and a vacation to Bora Bora. Just look at this picture, this is where I need to be. Laters.