Sunday is the day I attempt to gather the tribe for a family breakfast. It’s the one morning my children don’t have to wait for French toast sticks to thaw or eat cereal with a Leprechaun. Of course, I imagine all five of us gathered around the table engaged in conversation and laughing with glee. Clearly I am as delusional as Charlie Sheen. Since I am the only one working in the kitchen it is impossible for everybody’s meal to be ready at the same time. My eldest will only eat chocolate chip pancakes, the middle child wants a bagel with cream cheese and the rest of us enjoy bacon and eggs. Just when I think I can finally sit down they want refills, another napkin or are whining to play with their Ipods. Unfortunately, my husband wakes up every Sunday morning with broken arms and legs. It’s truly a medical mystery. The complaining only increases when I force everyone to stay at the table until I am finished eating. Damn it, we will have quality time! Then, they will all get up and walk away as if a bus boy is going to magically appear to clear the table. I spend another hour cleaning bacon grease off the counter, floor and ceiling. This is why God created IHop.



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