I don’t do mornings well. It takes my brain several hours to wake up and join the rest of the world. I often do quick, simple food for breakfast. This morning, I had planned to throw english muffins at the kids, but I glanced out the kitchen window and saw a beautiful picture.
My husband, working from home. He informed me that he had time to eat breakfast with us AND he was hungry.
Suddenly, I was motivated, inspired, downright eager to prepare a bountiful breakfast for the King of the Trailer. I pulled out frozen sausage and began thawing it in the pan. I broke eggs into a bowl and whisked them heartily. I sliced english muffins, toasted them, buttered them and put them on a plate covered with a lid to keep them warm. I washed garden fresh tomatoes and sliced them. In my fervor, I even sliced my finger and then risked further injury by bravely salting the tomatoes. Even the fear of salt in a fresh cut could not stop me now. I was on a roll.
I was really feeling the need to wear one of those pretty, frilly aprons, something you might see in the 1950s era. But I don’t have one (hint, hint sister). I’m almost embarrassed to admit this . . . . . . .but . . . . . I even sang. Not well, mind you. I don’t let people outside this trailer hear me sing, but I couldn’t help myself.
And this is the final result of my morning efforts.
Sausage with scrambled eggs, fresh tomatoes, and alfalfa spouts (homegrown, of course).
After I set the table, I put in a new Vivaldi tape I bought so my kids will be somewhat cultured and called the crew to breakfast.
And my handsome prince? What did he think of all this preparation? My homemade meal with homegrown ingredients, my cut finger, the song on my lips, Vivaldi on the tape player?
He just grinned at me, rolled his eyes, and then
he chugged to Vivaldi.
Prairie Sings 