I was speaking to a friend this morning, really, I was whining to a friend about how hard it was for me to get up in the mornings. "Oh, whine, whine, wah, wah, I have to get up at seven. Boo hoo hoo. I hate school." Fortunately my children weren't present, because I'm still pretty sure they think I take great pleasure in waking up before the sun and rousing them with glee. We'll just leave it that way for now.
Anyhow, she made the comment that their family meal is breakfast. She wakes up at six (!) and gets ready, makes breakfast for all and they eat at seven. As a family. Together. In the mornings. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this, if you must know.
Just last night, I'd been worrying, as I tend to do, that since Sarge starting working nights again, we're not eating a family meal. The two nights he has off this week, I have evening meetings, so those evening meals are shot, too. And, because I'm a worrier, my mind automatically jumps to all the studies that conclude that if you don't eat a meal together each day, your child will automatically end up pregnant, on drugs, and on welfare. By the time they're ten. So my head was still trying to figure out what my family was going to do to avoid definitive disaster, when I had this conversation this morning.
I'm pretty sure she saw the lightbulb go off over my head. Why not us? Why could we not eat breakfast together? Sarge is home to see the kids off to school and eats breakfast before heading off to bed. The children eat breakfast. Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! I could cook! In the mornings! And I'd have an excuse for feeding them cereal for dinner!
The only thing I have to figure out is how to get myself to get up earlier in the mornings. The wheels are turning. I'm excited.