It’s a glorious feeling to not set my alarm at 5:30 AM. My eyes close at around 10 PM on Friday night, and I sleep the deep, uninterrupted sleep of a man with a zillion responsibilities……………and 6 mg of melatonin flowing through his veins.
Each Saturday morning, as the sun rises, my eyes pop open as I hear a meek voice from outside the hallway gently inquire,
Daddy, is it morning yet?
Although the sun is still barely over the horizon, it makes no sense to fight the inevitable. I spent months answering with a “No, honey, go back to bed,” only to be awakened 5 minutes later with the same question.
Sure honey, come on in and hop in bed with us.
Almost instantaneously, another little pitter-patter of feet becomes audible in the hallway (do they have a “my sister is awake radar” or something?) and daughter number two climbs up onto the bed with the 3 of us.
We flip on the latest DVR’d show and try to squeeze in an extra 20 minutes of “sleep”.
As we lay there, coming to grips with the day in front of us, the air is permeated by the gurgling sounds of the coffee machine and the intoxicating aroma of the finest java Kroger has to offer.
The television show finishes up, I hop out of bed, and downstairs the three of us trek to fill up two bowls of cereal and milk. (Mom gets to rest for a little while longer – you’re welcome honey.)
As the girls munch on their Kix, I begin to make my Saturday morning staple. I take out 6 thick-cut strips of bacon, and fry them in a pan. I take two pieces of bread and two slices of cheese, and place the pan-fried bacon in between. I then take the entire sandwich, and place it directly into the frying pan, sealing this culinary delight with the bacon drippings.
The sandwich cools, and I join my girls at the table, steaming coffee in hand.
We sit. We chat. And we eat.
The crunch of the grease-fried crust is a momentary delight. Soon, the squishiness of the bread and the crispiness of the bacon take over. Hot, melted American cheese mixes with the entire mouthful, and the sweet, salty, crunchy, chewy goodness gets washed down with a sip of joe.
“If this is dieting done right,” I think to myself, “then I don’t ever want to be wrong.”
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