Brunch, I Love You More Than Rainbows*

This past Saturday, I was having a late night nosh with new friends when the conversation turned to…

What else? Brunch. In particular, favorite places to brunch. It’s one of the first things I like to know about people when I meet them.

Hello. How are you? What’s your name? Where’s your favorite place to have brunch?

Brunch is, by far, one of my most favorite things in the whole world. I love it better than Christmas. (So you can only imagine how I feel about Christmas brunch!)

The following morning I woke up with a craving for a latte and a warm, fluffy chocolate croissant, but there was no time for that. We had to get the kids ready for church and out the door.

All through Mass, my mind kept wandering back to spinach eggs benedict, roasted potatoes, coffee…

I was so looking forward to when I’d get to sit and relax at my favorite brunch spot, where someone else would be doing the cooking and the schlepping.

Unfortunately, Scout woke up that same morning with a craving for chaos.

He did just fine at Mass, but the second we stepped into the cafe, he resumed his reign of terror- running away, banging on the display cases, screeching as loud as human ears can take…

We coaxed him several times to (please) stop, which he clearly took as a dare. Fed up and knowing exactly where this was going, I stormed out of the restaurant before we could be seated. “We’re leaving,” I announced to Mr. D and the kids.

“But I’m soooooo hungry. Why won’t you feed me? Please. Please. Please. I’ll be good.” he cried and begged as  Mr. D carried him to the car amidst the curious gawks and sympathetic looks of strangers.

Mr. D pitched me his “It’s-up-to-you” look and at that moment, I wanted so much to cave– to just say, “Oh okay. Let’s go back in, but only if you *promise* to be good”.

If only it were that easy. Instead I found myself at one of those pivotal parenting moments when there is no turning back. I had to stick to my guns or risk forever losing any mommy cred…

(i.e. teaching him that you can be a total punk, but if you whine and beg and invoke enough sympathy among strangers, you get your way.)

So we went home, stopping at a produce stand along to way to pick up apples and broccoli, which are a poor, poor substitute when what you really want (all you really wanted) was a warm, fluffy chocolate croissant.

All of my life, I’ve been told that parenthood equals sacrifice. So when I became a mom, I willingly gave up the huge things: My career. My social life. My flat (enough) tummy. Sleep.

I thought I could at least hold on to the little things such as ENJOYING A FREAKING PASTRY.

*What? Has that not become a thing yet? Well, it should! Also a children’s book, by the way.

Follow