We get up pretty early in this house, due to having a high schooler in the family. Usually the alarms go off around 5:30 a.m., and everyone shuffles around showering, brushing teeth, and doing all of those other things required to get out of the house. J leaves by 6:30 every day.
Having a sixteen-year-old means, in this house anyway, that we don’t have to dress him or make his lunch or supervise his every move to make sure he gets out the door on time: he’s very good at doing that himself. It’s for that reason that on occasion, Jim and I will “sleep in” until 6:00.
Today was one of those days. I brushed my teeth and headed downstairs to the kitchen, just in time to see J eating one of these:
I gave him a sideways glance and said, “For breakfast? Come on, are you kidding me??”
He nodded. “It’s frozen FRUIT.”
“”Well, I can’t argue with that,” I said, shrugging, as I walked away.