Assortment: January 2009

Sometimes, you've got to broaden the scope a bit, think outside the box, take a step to the right, to the left, or climb up on a chair and have a look from there.

In other words, you don't always have to eat weekend breakfasts with your children!

Imagine that.

Just imagine that!

Feed those whipper-snappers first, and pick something like cold cereal (a treat here), granola bars (a rare treat here), or protein bars (so rare here that it'll whip 'em up into an excited frenzy faster than you can count to three). When their tummies are stuffed to poochin,' you can then send those excited frenzies away from the table (or better yet, outside) while you and your guy sit down to breakfast plates of eggs fried in a drizzle of olive oil til just over-easy, their jiggly cheeks speckled with freshly-cracked pepper; spicy sausages with just the right crunch to their edges; homemade bread, toasted, with a pools of butter melted into each hollow, and, to drink, a capuccino or honey-ed peppermint tea, whichever suits your fancy.

And between bites, your guy will read the paper that's spread out on the table beside him, and he'll slowly turn each page, pressing the center crease up and down, up and down, twice, so it lays nice and flat. And every once in a while, he'll ask what you're thinkin' about. Because he just likes to know. Then, he'll take a sip of his capuccino, and as he scoops up another bite of drizzly, yellow egg yolk onto his toast, he'll look at you with smiles in his eyes and raise his eyebrows. Then, under the table, he might sandwich you bare feet between his, which will make you smile back, because he knows you always have cold feet in the morning.

Then you'll take up your cup of hot tea, give it a little twirl, and inhale the heady peppermint smell. You'll take your first sip, and it'll remind you of your mama when you were a girl, like it always does. Then, you'll reach for the glossy spring issue of Pottery Barn, which is sitting next to your plate. It's better than any magazine that comes to your door, and you waste no time in opening the front cover. Spring pours out of its pages like sunshine in the morning, and right off, you notice the yellow and green color theme running throughout and almost as suddenly, you know without a doubt that those are your favorite colors, too (even though you've never really had favorite colors before).

And you'll be happy. And so contented that, without realizing it, you'll reach over and lay your hand on your guy's arm. Then you might begin to tickle his arm back and forth, back and forth with the tips of your fingers, just the way he likes it, until you have to turn the page.

Then, he might read you a sentence or two here and there; news that's either amazing, or a bit of a head shaker. And you might turn your book around and show him a picture of a couch, and ask what he thinks of that one, knowing it just might get a rare eyebrows up nod of approval, but more likely a "nah" and be forever thereafter written on the "grandma couch" list. (And, not that you're actually getting a couch, you just want to know. Cause he's your guy.)

He'll drink the last swallow of coffee, set his cup on his plate, along with his crumpled napkin, push it off to the side, and bring the newspaper in close to finish up the last couple pages. You'll sit back, drinking your tea, your catalog's back cover now facing up, and you'll look up and notice his empty plate, and how the daylight is coming through the window, lighting it like that, and you'll wonder.

Then he'll ask, "What're you thinkin' about now?"

And you'll say, "Taking a picture of your empty plate."