Considering how I reference and characterize my children on this site you’d think I admitting guilt for a particularly heinous, sperm-related crime.  Had I been fixed earlier, or drank even heavier, the world may never have heard about these baby-talking, squabbling, hockey playing, fingernail painting abominations…

But seriously, brothers and sisters, my brood ain’t bad in the least.  As much as I loathe apologizing for things I’ve written – including all the blog slander they suffer at my hands – I do feel the better angels of their character deserve a little shout.  It’s fun to write about what demonic pissters they can be – seems to chuckle up my audience too – but they’re far better little people than I may lead you to believe.

And here’s one reason why:  their breakfast habits.

What do your squirts eat in the morning?  Froot Loops? Toast? Well, rest assured that we eat banal crap like that too.  Part of me wants to allow the monkeys to have a little exposure to crunchy, sugar blasted flakes, puffs and circles – a post-dated retaliation for the days when my own mom slammed the brakes on Kellogg’s and General Mills’ finest sucrose bombs.* Funny thing is that we wind up tossing out many stale boxes of Corn Pops and Frosted Flakes as the kids lose interest after a bowl or two. Jacko goes on cinnamon toast benders now and then and has fits of butter-griddled onion bagels with cream cheese.  Elsie’s ruts consist mainly of not eating breakfast at all. BUT….more often than anything else the dwarfs like solid, complicated breakfasts and eclectic daybreak meals.

Today was an omelet one for the boy.  Makes them himself – a seven year old chops broccoli, dices onions, beats eggs, adds cheese and folds himself up an egg dish fit for a French sissy’s  petit dejeuner.   In the throes of a vegetable binge he also served himself up a slice of last night’s broccoli, garlic and smoked provolone stromboli.  And the monkey princess?  An Italian grinder – hold the tomatoes and onions, add extra pickles.  Perfectly capable of stacking one up on her own she decided to have me prepare it – telling me that I make ‘em way better than Subway to stoke my ambition or to prevent me from sticking a frozen waffle in her mouth.

 And that’s how it goes on any given day.  The kids want it interesting.  Pepperoni and a steaming bowl of Vietnamese “Breakfast Noodles”.  Clam Chowder and mixed berry smoothies.  BLT’s with Ovaltine** or herbal tea with Fettucine Carbonara.  At times it strikes me as an awful pain in the ass just for breakfast.  But then I take a gander at the two of them adding mint, cilantro, lime, hoisin and Rooster Sauce to their Pho Ga broth and it’s harder not to revel in the sight – to be prouder than living fuck over the coolness of it all

Coming Tomorrow:  Kindergarten Hockey Slut

*Somehow my mother’s conversion to Born-Again Christianity, which had forbidden me to listen to Led Zeppelin before I’d even heard of them,  also precipitated a violent shift in diet. Apple Jacks, Twinkies and McDonald’s were suddenly proscribed from our meals.  Fuck, as an eight year old I couldn’t give a crap for Satanic tunes – but they had just come out with Happy Meals when they were ripped from my culinary desires…

** Not the traditional malt horror that Ovaltine is noted for.  They make a hell of tasty chocolate milk powder too.  Loaded with vitamins, highly recommended.

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