Random Thoughts: Bread

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​​I’m really not supposed to be eating that much bread, if any at all. But bread is….delicious. In all its forms and varieties. Not croutons. Croutons are delicious, but they are most certainly not bread, a discussion I recently had on Twitter with Alyssa Mastromonaco and also with my therapist. Croutons are croutons. 

I should really be eating oatmeal for breakfast, oatmeal with cranberries, but I’m waiting for a ride, and I didn’t think I had time to make and eat oatmeal and of course, a cup of tea with the oatmeal because what’s the point of boiling the water for oatmeal and not having some for tea, so instead I had some toast. With butter. I usually like cream cheese, but we have Kerrygold Irish butter left from St. Patrick’s Day’s Irish Soda Bread, so I’m using that on my plain old wheat toast.

Sometimes I’ll have another piece of toast, which I shouldn’t have in the first place, because the butter (or whatever’s on it) tastes so good, so I’ll want a little bit extra. Since I’m not supposed to have the bread, I think maybe I should just take a spoon and have a little extra butter with or without jam, and now I’m realizing that I should have put jam on the toast and with the butter, but I didn’t, and I’ve already had too much bread that I can’t go back for more.

Should I just eat the butter then? Would that be better than the extra slice of toast? Or would that be worse than the bread? Worse, I think.

Ah well, breakfast is over, and my ride is on their way.

Birthday

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Yesterday when I would have normally been posting something for this space, I was bringing back McDonald’s breakfast for my son on his birthday. He turned 19 yesterday, and it hadn’t occurred to me until this very moment that this is his last teenage year. He is my big baby, which sounds derogatory but isn’t meant to be. He was my first baby, and will always be my baby, but now he is 19. Wow. When did that happen?

My husband and I woke him from a deep sleep to ask if he wanted something special for breakfast. He did. So out I went and back I came. We brought him his mocha coffee and breakfast in bed. When he swung his legs over the side of his bed, my husband asked where he was going, and he declared, “the living room,” which coincidentally was exactly where I was going to eat my breakfast.

Will wonders never cease?

So we ate breakfast together in a comfortable silence, the TV remaining off, the quiet punctuated by the occasional beep of his cell phone which also doubles as his fire department beeper. He has it set up with some kind of app to get the fire calls on his phone.

We spoke a little bit about his upcoming job interview.

Eventually, breakfast was over, and he left.

Surprisingly, he returned, papers and pen in hand, leaning on a cereal box, asking me questions about his last ten years of residences for the background check.

He did his paperwork, and checked out his phone, and I checked my Kindle, looking up every now and again.

It was a nice way to spend his birthday morning.

Happy Birthday.

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