In third grade, Mrs. Jenkins gave us the assignment to record for a week what food we ate as our meals. And so, after each breakfast, lunch, and dinner that week, I diligently noted in a little book. I transferred this information to a loose-leaf sheet of paper and turned it in.
The next day, Mrs. Jenkins invited me (and me alone) to write my entire week's menu on the chalkboard. An invitation to the chalkboard was always an exciting event for me. It took some time to write it all up there...it was a lot of information.
After what seemed like hours, when I was done, and as I walked back to my desk, Mrs. Jenkins asked the class "Class? Can you tell me what is wrong with this menu?" Just then a whole scurry of hands went up straight away...some of them with people nearly standing, stretching their hands as high as they could. Chants of "me" "me" "me" filled the room. One by one the students pointed out flaws of my menu. Namely, and most apparent to everyone, is that you're not supposed to have birthday cake for breakfast.
That thought had never, not even once, crossed my mind. And I don't think it really crossed my mother's either. For after every birthday in my family, until the cake was completely gone, we feasted on cake for breakfast. And, since my mother sliced the cake so paperthin you could see straight through to the plate, the cake seemed to last forever. And a day.
I thought of that story as I prepared this sugar and fat and everything nice breakfast this morning. And, just for Mrs. Jenkins, I added an extra slice of pound cake. (and perhaps thusly another inch to my waist)
p.s. You'll see a little peep of the project I've been working on this morning...my fairy in a jar for Melfie's sweet swap. I'm not allowed to show you until my swap sister gets her but I snuck this peak for you.