May 27, 2009
The Mother-Daughter Breakfast
Yesterday morning was the annual Mother-daughter breakfast at my daughter's elementary school. Families whose last names begin with the letters A-M were instructed to come to the school cafeteria promptly at 8:00am and pay $5.25 for a healthy breakfast consisting of a sausage, cheese and egg McMuffin, a doughnut, and a carton of chocolate milk.
Normally I welcome such healthy starts to the day, but as I sat at a table with my daughter and two of her classmates, I began to lose my appetite.
"I'm going to poke a hole in my doughnut with my finger right now!" said Mary. And she did.
"I'm going to pour chocolate milk into my holes," said Lucy.
Camber reached for her chocolate milk, but I cut her off at the pass. "Don't even think about it," I said.
My cruelty ruined what had promised to be a moment of special mother-daughter bonding. After shoving her food tray across the table, my daughter spent the rest of the breakfast with her arms folded across her chest. "I'm not eating that Egg McMuffin unless it's dipped in chocolate milk," she vowed.
"So be it," I said. Two minutes later, she reconsidered and ate her Egg McMuffin, making sure to gag and cough whenever she caught my gaze.
"Thanks for letting me come to the Mother-Daughter breakfast," I said on my way out. "I had a great time."
"I had a disgusting time," she replied.
"I love you" I said as I walked out the door.
"Wait!" she squealed, running toward me. "You forgot to give me a hug!"
I obliged before the pendulum carrying my daughter's moods swung out of my favor once again.