6:51 AM – Little Dog #1 wakes me up using the “Pounce, then Head Butt” method. Big Dog backs her up by woofing at the side of the bed. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, get out of bed, and consider finding the people who told me that by the time I was in my 50’s, I’d be enjoying a quiet, sane life and sleep in on weekends so that I can do something awful to them.
6:55 AM – Put Little Dog #1, Little Dog #2, and Big Dog outside for their morning rituals. Flip on the coffee machine. Retrieve dog food containers and head to the back deck. The pets shall be partaking of their morning meal on the veranda today.
7:00 AM – All 3 dogs are fed. Notice that Little Dog #2 spent the time between being let out and breakfast being served to continue excavation work on Glorious People’s Flowerbed Project #3172, meaning that her front paws are caked in mud. Go inside to retrieve a wet rag to clean her front paws before letting her back in. Some ask how I got so good at taking care of a dachshund, to which I reply that I have raised several crops of toddlers in my years, and the skills transfer easily.
7:15 AM – All 3 dogs are back in the house so that they don’t all enjoy the puddles last night’s rain left in my yard, and the coffee machine reports success in brewing the elixir of life. Pour my first cup and notice that the brown patina on the inside of my cream colored cup is coming along nicely. Eventually, I won’t need to brew coffee, and will just have to add hot water and stir.
7:25 AM – First sips of coffee out of the way, I survey the kitchen to get breakfast ideas. A large bunch of spotted bananas catches my eye, so I put together a big batch of banana bread. My children all learned a long time ago that if they can convince both parents to buy bananas, there will be a surplus. Then, if they don’t eat the bananas, they will eventually be reborn as banana bread. It’s everyday miracles like that that give them faith.
7:45 AM – Banana bread is in the oven, and I’m on my second cup of coffee. I quickly clean up the mess from the banana bread, then contemplate main breakfast. I decide on breakfast quesadillas, which are basically sausage and cheese fritatas with a tortilla on top.
7:50 AM – Poke my head into the Young Prince’s room and give him a gentle wake up call. He has to report for his job at the scout camp by about 11:30, and it’s an hour’s drive. He’ll need time to pack for the week, find all the things he’s lost since he got home on Friday night, then need time to remember all the things he’d forgotten to pack, find them, and then remember where he put his pack. If we wait until the last minute, this multi-step, multi-hour process would be shortened. This would bring conflict, airing of opinions on each other’s ancestry, and inevitable trips to the hinterlands to bring him things he just can’t live without later this week.
8:00 AM – First quesadilla is done on the griddle, so I sprinkle cheese onto it and cut the heat under it to let the cheese melt. I give the Blue Eyed Devil a second wake up call, adding that there are ripe raspberries to be had if he gets his fuzzy tuckus out of bed and goes to get them. He arises from his slumber and trudges out to the yard with a tupperware cup to retrieve fruit.
8:05 AM – I plate my son’s breakfast as he stumbles back into the house. He decides he wants hot sauce on his eggs rather than salsa (I’m so proud) as I remind him to wash the raspberries before he eats them. I put together a jar of sun tea and place it on the deck. I select “Raspberry Zinger” for today’s batch, and am proud that I checked which box I used before adding teabags to the jar. The first box I grabbed from the cupboard was chamomile reinforced with melatonin. While iced tea made with that selection would have probably tasted quite nice, it would have also given new meaning to the phrase ‘quiet afternoon’.
8:15 AM – I hear the first rumblings from the master bedroom, signifying that She Who Shall Not Be Named is stirring. I push down the fight or flight instinct that is gibbering in my ear, and try to decide if she will want bacon or sausage with her eggs. I decide to play it safe and wait until she is coherent to get her opinion on the matter.
8:25 AM – The oven beeps to tell me the allotted baking time for the banana bread is done. I set it to also shut off the heat, so I can let it sit in the warm oven for just a few minutes more to get the middle set just right. That’s a trick I have had to learn since we moved into this house and started using an electric oven. Once again, I consider the expense and trouble of having the house plumbed for propane and replacing the cooktop and oven.
8:30 AM – Retrieve a pan of perfectly-done banana bread from the oven and place it on a wire rack to cool. The Young Prince is at the table working his way through his breakfast, but there is no sign of Irish Woman yet. I look about the kitchen for the bowl of raspberries, and inquire as to their location. The Young Prince informs me that he already ate them. Such is life. Hopefully, there will be more raspberries tomorrow.
8:40 AM – Both little dogs urgently remonstrate their desire to be released into the back yard. Before I can intervene, The Young Prince opens the door for them. They bolt to the back of their compound and unleash a torrent of canine profanity the likes of which has not been seen in this land for a generation. Apparently, a deer farted two yards over, and my pets just had to let the world know how they felt about that. I arise from my chair, curse under my breath, and retrieve the self-appointed guardians of the neighborhood. I make a note to apologize to the neighbors for the disturbance next time I see them.
8:55 AM – Irish Woman makes her first appearance of the morning. She decides she just wants scrambled eggs with sausage, so I put away the cheese and tortillas. The Young Prince is sent to get his last good shower for the week, and I enjoy my 3rd cup of coffee. A morning disucssion of the ‘riots’ in Los Angeles and New York devolves into a rehashing of Occupy Wall Street and the 2020 riots in Louisville. I explain what ‘federalizing’ means when referring to the National Guard, and how using active duty military, especially Marines from 29 Palms, as front-line crowd control will not work the way most folks think it will.
9:30 AM – The Young Prince emerges from his Sunday morning schwitz, shorn of the sparse stubble on his cheeks and chin. I have a discussion with him about the utility of permathrine and DEET in his new working environment, and admonish him about tick checks. The banana bread has now cooled enough to enjoy, so I quickly cut out two of the four corner pieces and claim them as my own. He who labors should enjoy the best fruits of said labor. I am ‘convinced’ to let our son take a portion of the banana bread to camp with him. I hope the mice enjoy their treat.
9:40 AM – The “Did you remember?” questions begin. So far, it has saved the Young Prince from forgetting paperwork, a red-white-and-blue bow tie, and a hawaiian shirt. Why a junior counselor at a Boy Scout camp needs a bow tie and a hawaiian shirt remains to be seen.
9:50 AM – Irish Woman is preparing to leave to take her progeny to work, and inquires as to my plans for the day. As I do not have any, I merely state that I will figure something out. I suggest that one of us needs to go to the Scout meeting this evening in her son’s place so that discussions can be had about an upcoming GREAT ADVENTURE. She reminds me that the troop will be attending the same camp that our son is staff at this week. I then laugh at the thought of my son trying to provide training and guidance to the scrum of young scouts we know. Karma is an evil queen.
10:00 AM – The previously blue sky is darkening. I wasn’t going to be mowing anything today, but did have hopes to do some other outside work at some point. Shucks, I shall have to spend my day inside with air conditioning.
10:30 AM – Irish Woman and the Young Prince depart. A generous portion of the banana bread goes with them. The house settles into an eery calm. It is as if one crisis has abated, but another, more silly crisis approaches with stealth. I contemplate what I want for my own breakfast, and whether today should be spent cleaning out the spice cabinet or deep cleaning the basement.
DaddyBear’s Den 