Breakfast Redux

Given that Hubby wanted to screen the new Tim Hawkins comedy video last night, and that laughing hurts, I was moving a bit slowly this morning. I'm slowly pulling on clothes in the bathroom when I hear him firmly start to say our usual kid-friendly blessing.

Overpowering his voice is Medium Fry, who is praying along...while crying at the top of her healthy lungs.

"God is great, God is good, and we thank him for our food."

There's an audible gasp as Medium Fry inhales before bellowing/crying out the rest:

"Bless Auntie J's boo-boo. Bless Unca D so much. Bless Auntie J so muuuuuuch," her voice catching on a huge sob at the end. (Those who've heard Medium Fry wail and talk at the same time will have no trouble imagining this.)

Once I had (slowly) made my way downstairs, Hubby explained what had happened.  Medium Fry had not wanted to come to breakfast. She had not wanted to relinquish her toys. Once forced into the kitchen, she did not want to climb into her chair. Hubby remedied that, and he was getting frustrated. Then she didn't want to buckle the straps on her seat that keep her "stuck" (she often complains about this when she's "done" and I tell her she's supposed to be stuck), which she is normally quite adamant about doing herself. Hubby buckled her in, amid wails that she wanted to do it. He announced that they would pray, started speaking, and Medium wailed right in.

Incidentally, this little coda to prayers isn't limited to grace at mealtimes. We go through this little routine even at bedtime, and tonight, Auntie J's boo-boo got blessed three times, and Unca D got blessed "so much" three times. Auntie J? Not a word.

Except, of course, for the boo-boo.