Feeding time

If you have ever watched the feeding of fish then you have a good idea of what breakfast time looks like at our house. Shall I set the stage? Two babies in their high chairs screaming out in fury each time a dish is brought out and they realize it is not theirs. A crying kitten (Felix) who thinks he is starving even though he eats twice a day. Three toddlers dancing around my feet, tugging, pulling and pushing their way over each other in a world-class competition for who gets a drink of milk first.

Given the coffee is brewing and not yet in my hand (a.k.a. bloodstream), I have to navigate this carefully. So I assign jobs. “Esther, feed Felix.” “Micah, get three spoons and set the table.” “Gabe, throw this away. …and this…this too. Thanks buddy.”

Becoming helpers seems to occupy their hands and minds long enough to disperse the crazy and prepare the food. But there’s still the background music of screaming babies. They simply have to wait and they aren’t going to like it. But I give them puffs and they are temporarily pacified. Until the next dish arrives. They’re no fools. Puffs are a past time not a meal.

But really. There is no coffee in my hand and breakfast is strikingly similar to feeding time at the zoo. Sometimes, if it is worse because the kids boycotted their dinner from the night before (Such as fish. Gasp!! What was I thinking?!) I have to ¬†I put kleenexes in my ears. Don’t judge! If I stay sane the kids get fed and in the morning I really don’t care how we get there. The real question is, did we get out the door on time?