“What kind of swill is this???!!!”

Yesterday morning, while I was upstairs hugging the mattress with what can only be described as an absolute unwillingness to release it, Dada made J eggs, ham and bread for breakfast.  By the time I’d emerged from our room and been somewhat restored by a cup of coffee, J was done, but it was quite evident that he was very happy.  There was dancing involved in the clean-up ritual after breakfast, and there was humming while he dressed for school.

This morning we were singing a different tune.  Everyone had dragged out of bed as if anvils were chained to our feet.  Yes, multiple anvils…not just one, but several.  I had dedicated a great deal of time to cleaning the street level of our home and was, quite honestly, pretty tired when I crawled into bed; the anticipation of doing the same with the basement level today was not conducive to springing out of bed.  Dada was tired, too…lots going on at work.  TGG was heading to a 12-hour shift after a rough day.  J was not his usual chirpy Friday-morning self…

And so, in the midst of all this lack of enthusiasm, Dada took the easy way out when it came to breakfast.  Into the nuker went a Jimmy Dean biscuit with egg, bacon and cheese…  J sat down, took one bit and spit it out.  This reaction usually indicates that J is not feeling well; on this particular occasion, it simply reflected J’s disappointment at a subpar effort for breakfast, especially following closely in the heels of eggs, honey ham and toast.

Lesson learned?  Anton Ego walks among us, not just among the characters in Ratatouille…

 

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