eggs

Eggs

A note on breakfast today.

This morning I made two bowls of scrambled eggs. The eggs were requested AT VOLUME by two small dictators.

I was SCREAMED at to make these eggs. I hadn’t even managed to go for a wee before making these eggs. I place the bowls of eggs on the table - my beloved G-Plan I bought when we moved house to fit in our expanding family, now covered in a horrific green plastic lined tablecloth - and merrily call for the children to enjoy their just-cooled-down-enough eggs. 

I DON’T WANT EGGS!!!!! comes reverberating from the playroom (a converted garage, now the place where plastic comes to die).

Then the sound of children throwing themselves on the floor in grief, tears - actual wet tears - tracking down their hot, angry faces.

But you love eggs! You asked for eggs! I plead with them, still desperate to go for a wee, hair resembling Strewellpeter. I am met with pure disdain. The eggs sit quivering in their bowls, knowing they are hated, they are the issue, they are not Weetabix.

The cat - once the baby, now chief child-aggressor - lollops downstairs at the sound of the screams. She knows there’s beef, and she wants a front row seat at me getting my comeuppance for being a terrible mother. 

A small metal car comes flying from inside the playroom. NO! EGGS! The Audi rebounds off a radiator.

The cat jumps on the table, claws piercing the tablecloth through to the once glorious walnut. My eye twitches. 

I know. I’ll go for the wee I am still hanging on to. That will distract them.

Usually it would mean the instant arrival of four podgy little hands prying open the ajar door - but not today. As I leave the bathroom I see the cat’s fluffy little head buried in one of the bowls of eggs, lapping up the buttery curds.

Oh well, I think. Someone’s enjoying the breakfast I lovingly created. 

As I traipse back into the kitchen, semi defeated, the two small dictators give in and leave their self-imposed exile and waddle over to me.

Their funny little faces looking up at me, their anger subsided. I THINK I WANT THE EGGIES NOW, one shouts at a totally unnecessary decibel level.

I smile. Then I remember.

The cat licks her lips.

I wince.