OK. Im sick, lying in bed, watching CNN because I’m too ill to reach over to Joes side for the controller. Ok, I lie… I’m too lazy and sick, but even if I wasn’t sick I tend to just suffer thru whatever is on the channel out of pure laziness. I even downloaded a Verizon remote app on my phone that is linked to all the cable boxes in the house. My phone is right here. The app is on my screen. Yeah, I’m just lazy.

Its, oh, 1;30ish and up the stairs like a herd of heffalumps come Charlie, 8 and Ryan 11. They bust into my room a flurry of activity, noise, boy germs and breakfast. Well, lunch, no, BRUNCH!

“Feel better Mom! We made you breakfast!”

Ok, we’re back at breakfast. OK, fine with me. But, whatever it is, there it is.

A scrambled egg sandwich on a toasted roll. On a tray. A folded cloth napkin. A steak knife. A fork. Served with little salt and pepper pinch cups, a glass of “Arnie Palmie”  and a variety of condiments.

Only well seasoned mothers, with multiple children and usually a bit of a  jaded view to the “awwwww” factor of all the “cute, adorable, loving things our innocent, angelic, pure children do to show their love to us” will understand that my FIRST thought was “Oh shit!”

(My second was, THAT’S what I smelled burning….)

There are many facets to that “Oh shit!”

1. What the hell did they do that they are trying to suck up to me for? Did they lock up their sisters iTouch for a billion hours?Is there a dog shaved somewhere?

2. What do they want? Ohhh.. I know! The new installation of Call of Duty Modern Warfare III is out.( moved this up to number one reason in my head)

3. What does the kitchen look like? Are there eggshells in the cabinet and raw eggs on the ceiling like the last time? Will I be scraping petrified burnt yolk off my stove with a hammer and chisel?

(this quickly bumped out the Call of Duty idea as thought #1 in m mind- yes my brain works this way)

I kissed them and thanked them over and over, almost swayed by their beaming smiles and earnest affection. Almost.

As my gaze drifted back to the tray and its contents, the boys happily exited and headed downstairs cheering each other on with some manly  exclamations like“yeah! oorah! woohoo!” I had to laugh at them celebrating their achievement. Unaware that their achievement has actually given me at least 20 more things to worry about that did not have not 5 mins earlier.

Back to my observations…

4. my glass of lemonade/iced tea better known as Arnold Palmer or Arnie Palmie here, is half drank. I’m hoping they were testing it for appropriate mix vs. water consistency. Its that or Jeter (our Chihuahua) drank half because, well, because he does stuff like that. (upon later review of the photo I realized the ice cubes were somewhat melted, leading me to believe the drink had belonged to someone else and was added to the tray at the very last moment upon the discovery there was nothing else to drink. My CSI skills are impressive, I know…)

5. the sandwich, made of scrambled eggs is already cut in half, yet on my tray is a steak knife. Hmmm… to fend off the zombies that are coming because this, obviously, is the end of the world??

6. It’s a little TOO Martha Stewart for me that my SONS thought to place cute little salt and pepper pinch cups on my tray. I should probably take away their Barbie’s and make up kits.

7. The condiments. Oh the condiments. A whole bottle each of ketchup (really, WHO uses the word catsup anymore?)and mustard. ::head tilt::

What? no horseradish ? no Worcestershire sauce? ? At least they did not bring the hot sauce since it’s the only thing they have ever seen me put on eggs since they were born…(apparently a bloody mary is in my future as those ingredients were first on my mind…)

8. one of my gold, cloth, fleur de lis napkins….um, they were all folded and put away in a drawer in the kitchen. Why am I afraid to go downstairs and see what they are using to wash and dry the dishes? Or is it just one of those “give it up to God” moments that they are washing the dishes at all?

I ate half the sandwich, and every bite of the stale roll and runny eggs reminded me just how much I love my kids. I drank none of the Arnie Palmie, only because someone else drank it all for me. When? I have no clue. It was just…gone. But that’s normal around here.

A while later Ryan comes up and says “MOM! (yes, he said it, loud and excited like he was about to lay on me some serious business) I know how you feel now! I went to make eggs and EVERYONE said I WANT SOME TOO! and  it was JUST like you always say  by the time your done your either too tired to make yours, or theres NONE LEFT!”

“Well guess what Brother Love, I have half a sandwich right here waiting for you!”

“THANKS MOM!”

“MY pleasure Bro Nameth”

No, seriously, my pleasure. I would have eaten the whole thing to make him happy and proud. But I really would have thrown up if I had to take another bite.

Really.

 

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