When I was growing up, my mother fixed my brothers and me a hot breakfast every day before school — usually an egg and toast, sometimes a bowl of oatmeal. Never cold cereal. Breakfast bars hadn’t been invented yet.
My mother isn’t one to look down upon or feel superior to others, but she definitely frowned upon women who sent their kids to school on an empty stomach. Still does. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Then happy hour.
Consequently, I am in the 50% of the population who likes to eat something of a morning. Consequently, I try to get my child to eat something of a morning. Unfortunately, he seems to be in the 50% of the population, along with Antique Daddy, who don’t want to eat anything before noon. Weirdos.
Yet, every morning I get up, I make eggs and toast, or pancakes, or sometimes I even offer him a cereal bar, trying to get him to eat breakfast, trying to squish him into the me-shaped box. Then after breakfast, I scrape the untouched eggs and toast into the trash and pour his cold coffee down the drain.
And then I frown upon myself for sending my kid to school without breakfast.