Breakfast

sam­bear just made break­fast that is even bet­ter than those I remem­ber from my child­hood, bis­cuits and all. That’s significant.

Break­fast was the only real­ly “com­fort­able” meal in my par­ents’ home. There were usu­al­ly bis­cuits and gravy and eggs and grits and bacon and sausage and orange juice and lots of cof­fee. Some­times Dad­dy made hash browns if he had a han­ker­ing for them. We actu­al­ly talked to each oth­er over break­fast, despite the fact that we were always on a sched­ule to get some­where (school, church, work—yes, Sat­ur­days too). Those were the most relaxed inter­ac­tions I recall with my fam­i­ly of ori­gin, ever.

Lunch­es were eat­en alone at home as there was the time around chores, or at school/work in the absolute min­i­mum time nec­es­sary to take in fuel, and almost always con­sist­ed of a sand­wich of some sort. I’m still not big on sandwiches.

We did­n’t do snacks most­ly. Well, my broth­er snacked a lot, but he was a jock and that was expect­ed. Females don’t eat snacks, because they don’t need them and they might get fat. Snacks were big while watch­ing sports, but since I hat­ed that I did­n’t eat them then, either.

Din­ner was eat­en in silence. We always ate togeth­er at the table, but Dad­dy had the TV on in the next room so he could hear the news. Any noise that might make him miss so much as one word was absolute­ly ver­boten and would be punished—sometimes with harsh words, some­times phys­i­cal­ly. I tried real­ly hard to not make any noise at all, peri­od. It was always uncom­fort­able and anx­ious and I hat­ed it. I would have skipped din­ner every day if I could have, but it was­n’t allowed.

So my main com­fort foods—cheese grits, scram­bled eggs, and biscuits—are all asso­ci­at­ed with break­fast. Not so sur­pris­ing, I guess, but I did­n’t real­ly think about this stuff much until today.

I don’t like to eat in front of people—especially my fam­i­ly of ori­gin. I don’t even want to eat break­fast with them any­more, so sam­bear’s culi­nary achieve­ments mean even more to me now. They always have to com­ment neg­a­tive­ly on what­ev­er I con­sume or don’t con­sume. Always. They were every bit as crit­i­cal when I was under­weight as they are now, so it isn’t just because I’m fat. In fact, now my broth­er keeps insist­ing that our kids WILL be fat because sam­bear and I are big peo­ple. (Any­one who has seen our kids will laugh about that one.)

I like the way our home works far bet­ter than the way my par­ents’ home worked. I love you, sam­bear and shad­owkatt and R and G.

Cur­rent Mood: 🙂thank­ful
Cur­rent Music: Echo’s Chil­dren “Word of God”
Cyn is a proud Mommy & Mémé, professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
Posts created 4241

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Related Posts

Begin typing your search term above and press enter to search. Press ESC to cancel.

Back To Top