Breakfast out with the boys: a photo essay
Last weekend after I returned home from my business trip, I made a point to play hooky from my computer for an entire day. First up: a late breakfast with my boys, the big one and the two littler (and equally cute) ones. The chandelier at Mother's wasn't the only thing aloft.
I mean... there are a lot of reasons to have children, and having someone to look at over your Guatemalan French-press coffee isn't on the top of my list. But I sure can't imagine a better way to laze away a Saturday morning in spring.
Truman loves to play with the spoons, and he managed to get his hands on mine, too. Who needs toys when you have cutlery?
Sooner than later the spoon had hit the floor and the quandary commenced: just how many times can an item touch the floor before it's too yucky for a baby? Oh right. This baby picks up clods of dirt to eat. A restaurant floor can't possibly have anything he hasn't already consumed this week.
Everett colored and managed to keep out of trouble. As I knock on wood, I have to tell you: even my spirited child is becoming more well-behaved through a combination of consistent boundaries, teamwork from the parents, and a lot of benefit of simple growing up. And I have to tell you: coffee tastes so much better when you're not telling a three-year-old to sit down, NOW every three seconds.
I can't much remember the food. But I treasure every bite of breakfast with my boys. It's just about heaven.
Start by teaching him that it is safe to do so.