Saturday Joey had to go to a work meeting. He left me sleeping soundly, nice and snuggled in our warm, soft, cozy bed.
At 8:30 I was rudely awakened by a 4.5 foot tall cute little girl demanding french toast for breakfast. (Ok, so she didn't demand. She asked very sweetly.)
Once I cleared the fog from my head, checked the clock (8:30??? What the heck???), and asked her what in the world she was doing asking for french toast at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, I reminded her that I don't cook - at least not without the smoke detectors going off.
"But I don't want cereal or Pop-Tarts." she said.
Well, that's a good reason, I guess. So I got my lazy body out of bed and made the sweet thing some french toast.
I didn't even set off the smoke detectors. Pretty good, I think. (However, I did master the art of making french toast while I was pregnant with Taylor. I craved that and ice water.)
I think she was happy. Score one for mom.
**Now before you all go calling CPS on me for sleeping until 8:30 and expecting my children to get their own breakfast, you should know that they are usually not here on Saturday morning. They spend the night at their Great Grandparents every Friday night. (Don't hate.) BUT, when they are here, I have worked very hard at raising self-sufficient children.
Well, at least children who can pour their own cereal.