About Rebecca Eckler
Since becoming pregnant with her daughter Rowan, Canadian journalist and author Rebecca Eckler has penned three hilarious books, including the best-selling Knocked Up. Catch Rebecca’s weekly unique perspective on motherhood and single parenthood.
I had two breakfasts in bed last weekend. On Saturday, I woke up at the same time as my daughter (who was in my bed — no judgment!). She said, “Mommy, you stay here. I’m going to make you breakfast.”
I thought it was the sweetest thing in the entire world. Even sweeter, still, when she asked what I wanted. “Just a bowl of Special K with berries and a glass of orange juice.” It was exactly what I wanted, and I knew she could handle it. (There would be no turning on stoves or blenders or toasters.)
Upstairs I waited…and waited…and waited. I wondered, how l-o-n-g does it take to prepare a bowl of cereal? About 25 minutes later, my daughter came upstairs with a bowl of cereal. There was a lot of milk in the bowl and not that much Special K. I thanked her profusely, which is what one does when the intention is good, and then asked what took so long.
Her answer: “It was a new box and I couldn’t open the package.” So how did my daughter manage to open it? She stabbed it with a fork until there was a small opening, used a spoon to get out flake after flake after flake. “Don’t be mad when you see the package, OK mommy?”
How could I? That took dedication! After I finished my breakfast in bed, prepared by my 8-year-old, I went downstairs into the kitchen to see the punctuated Special K package. It looked like it had been attacked by rats. But still, she figured out a way to open it. I thought it was the sweetest thing.
Not so much the next morning, after a night when my boyfriend's two daughters slept over. I was awoken at 7:45am with a banging on the door and yelling, “BREAKFAST IN BED!” I didn’t want breakfast in bed. I was asleep (and also in shock), but they had prepared about 12 pancakes, put fruits in bowls, toasted bagels, and even brought up some diet coke. Oh, and did I mention the huge bowl of oatmeal?
Honestly, I thought I was going to throw up. (Not to mention the fact that my boyfriend and I couldn’t eat all that food and also there is a difference in bringing up one bowl of cereal and dishes upon dishes of food into a bedroom.) All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. But, when your children make you breakfast, you kind of have to eat it. And…like it — or at least pretend you do.
The kitchen, of course, was a nightmare.
When it comes to a 12, 10, and 8-year-olds making breakfast, they don’t clean as they go along. Their only goal, it seems, is to get food into your room. You tell me: Breakfast in bed, a sweet gesture or more work for mommy after?