Our family has developed a Sunday morning ritual. Our Sunday starts when our dog, Molly, creeps around outside our door. We can hear her sniff around our door and pace back and forth. She has decided that we have slept long enough and this is our signal to get up.
My husband and I make our way out the kitchen. His first job is to find the right music to fit day. Jazz, singer songwriter, coffee-house… whatever. He is very particular about the coffee operation so I leave that to him: choosing the right coffee for the day, grinding the beans with a loud whir of the coffee grinder and getting the right measurement of beans to water.
Surprisingly, the noise of the coffee grinder isn’t enough to wake up our two teenagers. This is okay because it gives me a little time to cook breakfast. I whip up melt-in-your mouth pancakes which hiss on the griddle. I sprinkle chocolate chips on top to cook into the pancakes and add a little sweetness.
While the pancakes cook in shifts on the griddle, I whip up a batch of scrambled eggs in a pan. The kids love them cheesy, so I shred up cheddar and add it into the mix with a little salt and pepper.
Finally, I cook the bacon. This is how I get the kids out of bed. The scent of the sizzling bacon makes its way down the hall and lightly tickles their noses and nudges them awake. When the bacon is about half way done cooking, I open their doors and announce that I made them a breakfast and it is time to get up. With minimal groaning they shuffle out to the kitchen and take their places at the table.
We enjoy our time together lingering over coffee talking about the week past and the week coming up. We often laugh at each others’ expense. Soon enough they all move on to their homework or whatever they have going on for the day.
This is one time during the week that I don’t mind cooking and cleaning up. It is all part of a ritual I treasure.