Taking a break in our normally scheduled food news …
Last night, my 7-year-old son, Silas, asked me very earnestly if we could eat breakfast together in the morning (in particular, cereal). My mother guilt kicked in: I grew up in a household where my family sat down together to eat a hot breakfast every single morning—that my father made. Today, my mornings are a whirlwind: me furiously making my kids' lunch while they eat their breakfast (eggs one day, Kashi toaster waffles the next), and then shuttling them out the door so I can get ready for work. I don't sit down for a minute with them. I thought, Silas is getting old enough to understand the importance of a family eating together, bonding, connecting over the breaking of bread (or the pouring of cereal). Or maybe his school class had a talk about this (even worse, because it means the food editor has been outed). I'm a horrible mother!!! My children will bring this up in therapy one day. People like me are the reason the family table is a thing of the past. Marion Cunningham would be so disappointed.
This morning I woke up to Silas begging for me to come into the kitchen so we could sit down for our cereal together now pleeeeease, looking at me angelically. I dutifully made my coffee while the boys poured the cereal. I got out the milk to heat up for my coffee. And out the milk poured—neon green.
"April Fools!" Silas shouted, showing me the "neon" food coloring he'd aquired, jumping up and down with delight.
He also got ahold of my neighbor's milk. As I write, I can hear them walking around upstairs. I'm waiting for them to get out their granola. We'll be getting a call.