I shifted my awareness from blissful sleep to the sound of my 2 year old next to my bed.
“Come on mommy! I wanna cook with you. I hungry. Let’s make eggs.”
My eyes opened slightly as I checked the clock. 6:30. Ugh. I gave her a half-awake ‘ok’ and watched her little feet shuffle across the room and down the hall. Her diaper begged to be changed after a long night and her curls bounced side to side with confidence.
I met her in the kitchen where she was knocking on the fridge saying “eggs, you in there?”
God I hope we have eggs.
I opened the fridge to see two lonely eggs remaining in the carton. Perfect.
We crack the eggs and put them in the bowl, add our milk and a pinch of salt. Cook them to perfection. I place the scrambled eggs on a plate and smother them in ketchup, just the way she likes. While they are cooling, I get myself a plain (unsweetened) Greek yogurt and some fresh blueberries. We sit down to eat.
“These eggs are nasty. I want your yogurt.”
Deep breath. We trade, I was really looking forward to that yogurt. I eat the eggs (now cold) smothered in ketchup, and she polishes off the bowl of yogurt and berries.
“That yogurt is nasty. I want eggs.”
Seriously? Thank God it’s Friday.
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