small things #58 ... eggs
Another breakfast has rolled around. How can it be that we are doing the early morning dance in the kitchen again?! Didn't we do this yesterday?
Baby S sits happily in her high chair. A graham cracker clutched in one sticky hand and a handful of banana in the other. She bangs the cracker on the tray and Gimli stays poised at her side watching for any crumb or cracker to hit the floor.
Ashley fills her plastic blue bowl with Cherrios and waits for me to pour her milk. She giggles at Baby S and keeps her tray filled with munchies while avoiding the baby's slippery banana-hands.
Lydia balances on the kitchen bench and spoons pink yogurt from the carton. Most of it makes its way into her breakfast bowl. The creamy pink splotches she cleans up with her fingers and tongue.
Aaron is grooving to the music pouring (rather loudly, it seems) from the iPod on the kitchen counter and waits for his bagel to pop out of the toaster. He has a knife in one hand and is fiddling with the butter dish with the other hand. He reaches up and pulls the cinnamon sugar out of the cupboard.
Norah stands patiently at the stove top staring intently into her pan of eggs. She slowly stirs the creamy yellow custard. She swirls around making a "S" with her white spatula; she is careful to scrape the edges of the pan. The heat is turned down low and she tenderly keeps the eggs gently moving around the skillet.
She abhors dry eggs.
She detests "skin" on her eggs.
She refuses to eat eggs that are over-cooked.
She is egg-act in her stirring.
She is an egg-cellent egg scrambler.
She has high egg-spectations for her breakfast.
Eggs ... if scrambling eggs was an Olympic sport, Norah would most certainly be medal-worthy. An egg-stremely egg-citing event!