Chapter 16: Sadina
There’s a routine to breakfasts in my house. Mondays are bagels and muffins that Mom picks up at the bakery over the weekend. On Tuesdays, Dad makes pancakes and bacon. Wednesdays: Mom’s waffles. Thursdays we’re back to Dad for eggs and toast. By Friday, they’re both worn out so it’s usually cereal, but there’s still a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice to go with it.
Hearing all that, you might think my parents are passionate about cooking. You’d be thinking wrong. The truth is, dinners in this family, the kind where we all gather around the table over a home- cooked meal and “connect” with each other, don’t happen very often. Between Mom and Dad working, getting Maddie to her sessions with the speech therapist, and bringing me to my basketball practices or music lessons or whatever, we’re old friends with the pizza delivery guy. So I think they have this guilt thing about not feeding their kids properly. That’s why they go all out with the breakfasts. Which is good. Not making my own breakfast means I can sleep in a few more minutes.
On Tuesday morning, routine jumps out the window.