yesterday in the Roach home.
I thought it would be nice to get up early on Wednesday and make a special breakfast for Hump Day, the second worst day of the week. Maybe it was my sense of guilt for having never made my husband a meal in the morning or having never actually been out of bed when he leaves for work. Don't worry, I'm awake. Just not up. Oh, I'll groggily smile at him and kiss him with my hot, top-of-the-mornin-to-ya breath...I just don't get up to walk him the five steps to the front door.
I'm a terrible wife.
Seeking to rectify that, I got up at seven o'clock and snuck out of bed and into our tiny kitchen, a whoppin' three steps away. Sneaking around isn't really possible in a one bedroom apartment, but I somehow managed to get the sausage, egg, and cheese casserole I made the night before into the oven without him suspecting anything other than my tiny bladder.
When all was said and done Grahm had six bites of my casserole, because he wasn't hungry after his massive midnight snack the night before. Mental note: make sure the husband actually wants to eat before preparing him a feast.
In the end, we're better off without our Wednesday breakfast tradition. I can sleep longer, and he doesn't have to pretend to be hungry at 730 in the morn. We're just not morning people, people. From now on all traditions will be made for the afternoon/evening.