What can I get you?

My next job just might be a short order cook in a diner, which will be astonishing to those who know me, but since we got on the new schedule I am frying and mixing and toasting like a top chef. True it has only been four days, but I'm insistent that Madison and Darcy have breakfast before they go to school this year, something they have fought in the past.

The first day was cereal because I hadn't done the grocery shopping yet, but they accompanied me on this excursion and chose things they were willing to eat or try. One of the things I purchased was a package of hash brown potatoes, another item I've never been good at completing edibley, but one Madison loves. I usually end up burning the batch, as Madison reminded me, but I told her that I would get better with practice.

As soon as I wake Madison I head into the kitchen to prep. What she has chosen the night before determines what time I begin so that I can have a hot meal on the table at the time she is ready to sit down. Since she is only allowing herself a 45 minute window from waking to walking out the door time is of the essence. Yesterday I had out my large electric cookware and was frying hash browns and scrambling eggs for my famous, talked-about near and wide scrambled eggs when my husband sleepily walked into the kitchen on his way to walk the dog. He stopped abruptly when he saw me and said, "What are you doing?" in a tone that suggested I had just pulled out everything we owned and set it in the middle of the floor (something that seriously might cause him to have a heart attack). I ignored the comment as I thought what I was doing was self explanatory and so he said to the dog, "Look Elliot, Aunt Jemima is in our kitchen," and I thought, "Ooohhh pancakes should go on my list for next week."

After I finish cooking for Madison I sit and chat with her while she eats, then while she is brushing her teeth, I clean up and make the coffee. She heads out the door and I have a half an hour to blog and drink my coffee while Tom showers. Then I'm whipping him up something hot which he still can't believe is happening. I clean up that mess, wake Darcy, send Tom out the door with his to go cup of coffee, and start Darcy's breakfast. She eats, I clean for the last time, and we both head out the door as I drive her to school. Yesterday I even helped Connie get her breakfast. I'm not real sure how long this will last, but for now I'm on a roll. I've whipped up english muffins with peanut butter, cut up fruit, fried hash browns, made scramble eggs with bacon and cheese, toasted cinnamon and sugar bread, and made sure that juice and water accompany each meal.

The beast is happy with all this activity and he goes from standing and watching me cook to standing and watching whomever is eating at the time. He enjoys whatever may fall on the floor by accident or on purpose, and while he isn't the most reliable taste tester his reactions and hopeful look for more spur me on. The only downside? I too must taste test, thus the change in my side bar to the right. No point in dieting now.