A Good Friday Breakfast….

 

Ellie reminded me she was going to make “Good Friday Breakfast!” for the entire family this morning.

By reminded, I mean, she swore she had video footage of me agreeing to let her put a menu together for Easter, sometime on Christmas morning (or thereabouts) and no one was allowed to help her in any way.

I’m pretty sure the conversation went something like this:

Ellie: Mom, can I make Christmas morning breakfast for the family?

Me: I have a great idea Ellie! Why don’t you make Easter breakfast for the family!

End scene.

So, like all good parents, we let Ellie tackle making fruit smoothies, banana/chocolate chip pancakes and various egg orders all without the help of a sibling or a parent while we busied ourselves eating dust bunnies in the corner as this project chewed up the better part of several hours.

“Remember, NO ONE is allowed to help me do ANYTHING!”

Agreed.

“Mom, can you help me get the blender down from the top shelf?”

Sure can, Ellie.

Hey Ellie, I know I’m not allowed to help but I think I can smell the motor in the blender burning and are those sparks coming out of the bottom? Do you want to add a little more liquid to the smoothies?

“Okay, I’m on it. Just don’t help me!”

I watched as Ellie poured some almond milk into the smoothies while dragging what appeared to be a moving puddle of frozen berries around the kitchen floor under her bare feet.

I’ll just mop that up Ellie while you’re “doing your thing.”

“Great. Hey Mom, I spilled some eggs down the front of the stove.”

You sure did Ellie. You. Sure. Did.

I’ll just wipe those off before they bake themselves onto the handles so we’ll still be able to turn the burners on and off.

“Mom, is this too many chocolate chips?”

I thought I wasn’t allowed to….”Oh God. Yep. Too many, Buddy. We now have a couple of crusty, burnt chocolate pans, perfect for the spring garage sale or just banging together when we form our in-house band–The “Burnt Chocolate Pans.”

Greg was quick to help with the pots and pans clean-up, towering out of the sink and taking up most of three counters with drips of eggs, pink smoothie blobs and rogue chocolate chips—perfect for future ants who will find them behind the toaster before we do.

Ellie’s face was showing signs of fatigue and chocolate smears.

“Can I set the table Ellie?” (It’s getting close to noon, the eggs she finished two hours ago that destroyed a griddle and set off the smoke detector have turned to rubber and bounced off of the plates).

“I said no help.”

Grrrrrr.

Ellie attempted to flip the pancakes with a thick, wooden spoon.

By flipping, I mean, jamming, then stirring them with a thick, wooden spoon.

“Sorry Mom. I think I ruined the spoon.”

No problem honey. When we throw out the other utensils and appliances destroyed today we’ll add it to the pile. Maybe I can use the handle to scrape the frozen fruit stains from the tile. Look at that, repurposing and recycling while feeding our family. Does it get any better than this?

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