This is a photo of the First (left, still asleep) and his friend Jake, who has just spent the night at our house.
Because I am such an incredible mom (and because Jake is one of my all-time favorites), I often cook a big family breakfast on Saturday mornings for all my guys to enjoy. Pancakes, fresh fruit from the roadside stand, bacon or sausage, the works. I generally count on my three early birds at breakfast time, then the First and his friends much, much, much later.
Here’s how the conversation went this time:
Me (upon seeing the First finally descending the stairs for the first time at 1 pm): The dead do walk! I thought you would never get out of bed. I made breakfast for you!
The First (all grouchy): I know. The smell of bacon woke me up at like, 9 am.
Me (cheerfully): Sorry!
The First: Is there anything left?
Me: Now you know I always make enough and save some for you. I wouldn’t let your brothers eat your breakfast! Although they did want to dig into it around lunchtime. But I threatened to give them a taste of my left hook and they showed me the respect I naturally command.
The First: (grunts)
I made him hold the clock up so I could prove just how late he has his breakfast. As you can see he was quite cheerful about it, morning person that he is.
He can’t fool me, though. I happen to know for a fact that he loves it when I make him a big breakfast, ’cause he eats every last bit. And he thinks I’m the greatest mom ever in the history of greatest moms. And he’s right.