Allow Me To Introduce….My Breakfast

Today I had breakfast in bed. It’s not my birthday. I did not bestow upon my husband any “unusual” favors in the wee hours before a.m. inside our den of love. It was just morning. So imagine my surprise when I heard the fridge open, packages rattling, microwave humming, and all of the beautiful noises that go along with “I don’t have to make my South Beach Diet spinach and eggs today!!! Hot damn!” Big Papa’s in the kitchen…..

Not wanting to spoil the surprise, I waited. I mean, I know that I am completely awesome. I know this because not long ago, I completely sucked. My mommying was tolerable, but the wife part, you know….not so much. HOWEVAH, since I came to the decision that my life has been beautiful for such a long time and I had just needed to take my dumb ass bitch goggles off, I’ve been pulling my weight around this place. Dinner and all. This is why I assumed I deserved this blessed breakfast in bed. Add to that the fact that I just finished a school year with 90 crazy children that I love, only to jump back into full time SAHM duty, without a day off in between for eating bon bons while sitting on my just tanned ass, a 3 hour mani/pedi, a massage with Sven, and 2 bottles of rare red wine with my 100 famous friends. ( You ALL know that’s what teachers AND SAHM’s do, right!?? Bite me.) I could not WAIT! So what if it was made with the same shit that’s been in our fridge for a week. Who CARES!? I ain’t cookin’ it! I snuggled back into the pillow that was still damp with my drool, dreaming up the nice words I would shower upon Leonidas as he hands me my gilded breakfast tray laden with morning presents. Then he walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Him. Leonidas. Out of the BATHROOM. Huh? Wha…. He does recon in the kitchen after hearing the same ruckus, only to duck back in a moment later. He wasn’t splattered with blood, and there was no dead body to bury in the backyard Mr. and Mrs. Smith style, so I assumed that we knew the person creating the kitchen noise. He is smiling. He tells me to lie down and close my eyes. Now keep in mind, those words, coming from his mouth, can never be bad, but this time was a little different. And it was daytime. Early. You pervs…..Geez.

The door opens slowly, and I peek because I can’t help it. Freddy the five-year-old creeps in silent ninja style, wearing his little white drawstring pajama pants that I love so much (I think it’s because they’re spotted with black and white TVs) and a smile. He is carrying a single white plate. “I made you breakfast, mommy! I did it all by myself! I didn’t have the fish sticks and chocolate sauce with cheese like the last time I made it, but I think this will be okay for your south diet on the beach.” My heart freakin’ melted. In my life I have never had a sweeter breakfast than that mini whole wheat bagel sprinkled with 2% cheese and a ripped off corner of Canadian bacon with the fingerprints still on it. He even nuked it for a perfect 20 seconds. I swear to God, Wolfgang Puck couldn’t have done it better….