always listening

At the breakfast proceedings this morning, the elder lad said something that flat out did not make any sense -- highly unusual for our always-thinking analytical future Mack truck driver, not so much for me. When I questioned him on the gaffe, he said "oh, excuse me. I haven't had my coffee yet."

(For the record, he doesn't drink coffee.)

"Where have you heard that before?!" I asked, knowing the answer already.

"From you," he said with a sort of smirk, at once sheepish but confident.

Oh my.

time to make the doughnuts

We made doughnuts this morning -- the younger lad, all-things-purple-loving lass, and I.  Not fried doughnuts, because I'm too scared to fry things at home (and too lazy to clean up the mess), but baked. 

The elder lad eyed the mini Bundt pan with suspicion, asking if he could lop off the fancy part of his doughnut.  Once it was dipped in chocolate, though, he didn't care about the shape.  He ate that one and the better part of two more.   I'm still working on that perplexing vanilla frosting recipe using dry milk, powdered sugar, vanilla, and boiling water.  My taste testers were very gracious to eat the experiment anyway.  Cinnamon sugar paired nicely with the spices in the cake batter.

'Twas a fun start on a frosty morning.

down home delight

buttermilk biscuits my beloved made from scratch with little helpers,
sweetened with Aunt T's homemade jelly.

dining al fresco

The lads ate breakfast on the back porch this morning (for some unknown reason, as the air was already thick with humidity).  Their sisters were sleeping in, and my beloved (who is home for a few days' "staycation") and I were having our breakfast at the kitchen table in the air conditioning.

When next the elder lad came inside, he discovered his sisters at the table with us.  He shouted to his brother out the open door "say 'good morning' to your sisters!"

"GOOD MORNING!" the younger lad hollered.

"That's enough," the elder lad said curtly, and dashed back outside.

pay up

Just as I predicted, the lass *did* eat more French toast than her brothers this morning.  Perhaps this is due in part to her not having had much time to eat breakfast before Mass, as I got her up and dressed mere minutes before we had to leave (she had time for a breakfast cookie, and that was about it).

And as I thought it might, this whole Daylight Savings Time thing has us all a little out of sorts -- up early but also up late (ahem -- note my time of posting).  As I've learned in these few years of motherhood dealing with time changes, however, this too shall pass...

(I hope.)

easy like Sunday morning

We're in the habit of having French toast for breakfast on Sunday mornings, and I've hit upon a way to get it on the table pronto: I make the batter the night before by first mixing together the dry ingredients, whisking them together with the eggs to make a slurry, then adding the (soy) milk and stirring it all up.  Mixing the dry ingredients together first and then into the eggs to make a slurry helps keep them in suspension, rather than falling to the bottom of the batter.  Something about having the night to think things over together as a batter elevates the end result to a higher level of delectability.  Fret not, though -- it's still fabulous made and cooked immediately if the craving doesn't strike until the morning.

This way, when we get home from Mass and everyone is hungry (though we do try to eat a little something beforehand, as this helps Mass go better for everyone), all I have to do is slice the bread and heat up the griddle.  Voila!

Daylight Savings Time begins overnight.  This always throws us for a loop, so here's hoping some yummy vittles will help us adjust...  I'm willing to wager the lass will out-eat her brothers.

photo credit: my talented beloved

pancake brecky

After a busy week with several of us under the weather, this morning I decided to make pancakes for breakfast.  I make them with whole wheat flour, wheat germ, lots of cinnamon for blood sugar stability, and flax seed meal.  Here's the full flap jack on our favorite pancake "brecky".   Reminds me of a couple of favorite pancake-themed books of ours:

Pancakes, Pancakes! by Eric Carle (one of our favorites), in which the boy who craves pancakes gains a true appreciation for the origins of his food after tracking down each of the ingredients from its source, and

 

Curious George Makes Pancakes George using a super-sized pancake griddle + blueberry smiley faces + too much syrup + a dunk tank = one tasty, endearing adventure for our favorite little monkey.

busted

The lads were chomping at the bit to play outside this cool morning after Mass.  Too anxious to get out there to eat anything (they *had* eaten before church), they donned some autumnal attire suitable for pushing trucks and such around the yard (including a colorful array of hats and hand coverings) and went out.  My beloved and I stayed inside at the kitchen table overlooking the yard with our breakfast casserole and the wee lass, and set some breakfast cookies out on the porch for the lads.  Then this scene unfolded...

Elder lad (at the window cracked open to allow two-way communication beyond banging and gesturing): "Good morning, sir.  May I take your order?"

My beloved: "yes.  Coffee, please."

Elder lad: "OK.  Grande decaf mocha?"

My beloved: "I think that's what your mother would order."

Elder lad goes off, retrieves a cup full of dirt, reappears and says, "OK.  That'll be five dollars."

Where does he come up with this stuff?

I wasn't always a breakfast person.

Late at night, my thoughts turn to breakfast...