Posts Tagged ‘oatmeal’

Mornings are a funny creature.  I really like mornings.  I really like being awake.  Oh, I’m not terribly fond of being awakened, but once we’re through that whole nasty bit, things smooth out quickly.  Provided there’s a cup of coffee (or 3)  nearby, a relatively dark spot, and total complete silence.  Other than those small details, I’d say I’m a pretty jolly Mr. Morning.

So… problem is, the Goldilocks (she’s our #3) wakes up before me.  And she should DEFINITELY not use the coffee maker.  And the other problem is she knows very little about total, complete silence.

Neither does #1 (“Tig” named for the bouncy feline from 100 acre wood), who given free reign would wake with elbows and knees rather than strokes and kisses.  “Fwack” (that would be #2) is much more docile in the morning.  Unless he’s hungry.  He’s the forgotten one, the proverbial “middle” child.  He’s a follower, so if there’s no real noise, he’s pretty quiet.  Being a follower though, he’s plenty ready to rumble if someone else (Tig) is too.

Character building begins early in the day at my house.  So I can only assume God’s blessing is on us.  I wouldn’t say it’s the sharpest tool in my pouch, but it’s the heaviest, most bludgeoniest.  The tool?  “Wait.  Just wait.”

Breakfast is a very popular meal at our house.  2nd most popular is “snack” which follows almost immediately.  Or you’d think it was supposed to, were I reading the same handbook.  We usually have anywhere from 2 to 5 containers of oatmeal on hand.  It heats up quick, adopts MANY flavors readily and for whatever reason, we all seem to like it pretty well.

Have you ever worked in a pancake house?  I did.  For a pretty good bit of time.  It seemed like forever.  Canadian pancake chain: Ricky’s.  Yeah, I’ve done it all.  That’s why I have a blog.  I was a bus boy in the place.  Ate my paycheck.  MMMMMmmmm…  I tell you though, people are fussy.  They want this and not that.  They’d like it here, but not there.  I gave that job up many years ago, but somedays start running for butter, jam, syrup, forks, and I wonder that I ever took off the apron.

Did I mention that I don’t take polyphony very well?

When I let it be known that breakfast time is finally, finally upon us, the room erupts.  Literally.  Crap get’s thrown, people fall down, and in general, as the famous American philosopher from the 1980’s, Peter Venkman once said when facing a crucial juncture in human history; “dogs and cats, living together, human sacrifice- MASS HYSTERIA!”

The orders pour in.  And being the level headed dad that I am, I set my coffee down, take out my pad, and write everything down to keep it all straight in my head.  Once that’s done, the kids all sit down at their spots around the table and wait for me.

Okay, that was a lie.

When God told Abraham that he would be the Father of nations, I bet that was pretty exciting.  Sarah thought the notion preposterous to the point of comedy, but she still dared to hope.  But God failed to deliver.  Or as it appeared to her He did.

When I was younger, I listened to music almost constantly.  Didn’t really matter what it was.  I used to have a little boom box that sat on my bed, right next to my pillow.  I would put a cd on “repeat all” and I’d turn it off in the morning.  Sometimes.  I remember the first time I did that with Nirvana’s “Nevermind” cd.  Don’t know if they still print it the same way, but my copy had a “hidden track” on it.  Go listen to that sometime, and then imagine yourself being sound asleep when that comes on.  Right next to your head.

I was convinced that I was going to be a musical superstar.  I don’t really know why.  I just did.  I thought it was divine appointment.

Do you remember what your dream was when you were little?  I do.  I remember looking through the TV screen at Slash’s Les Paul in the video for Welcome to the Jungle.  Formative moment.  Scary idea, eh?

Still waiting over here.

I realized this morning that waiting is never easy.  Doesn’t matter if it’s waiting for the moment a dream comes true or if it’s waiting for the oatmeal with the right color fruit preserves.  What if the bowl shows up at the table with cinnamon on it, instead of honey?  What then?  Do I shove it back?  I like cinnamon just fine.  But I asked for honey, thank you.  I’ve been waiting for honey.

No.  You’ve been waiting for breakfast.  Let’s keep our perspective here.

Abraham and Sarah couldn’t stand the waiting.  It was impossible!  And Ishmael was born.  And now we have metal detectors, body scanners, and RPGs, IEDs, and holidays that commemorate the very worst in humanity.

I’m no rockstar.  I’m no phenom.  I go to Leo Kottke concerts, and it’s easy a month before I even have the motivation to pick up a guitar again.  Shoot, I hear Chris Tomlin or Jim Cuddy sing and I just shake my head and wonder what was I ever thinking.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m looking a perfectly good bowl of oatmeal, topped with cherries, (instead of strawberries and chocolate chips).

Are you getting hungry?  What are you waiting for?  What have you been served?

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