Breakfast with Team Oster

A team is only as strong as its weakest link. Yesterday morning, that link was Jiro. As I said, we were already running late and had missed speech class, so breakfast needed to go smoothly and fast.

Once Jiro was dressed and standing before the pantry, I did my usual “listing of the breakfast options.” “Ok, you can have grits, oatmeal, cereal, sausage, or bacon.”

“Pick me up,” Jiro said per usual, so he could gaze at the cereal options.

“It’s just Multigrain Cheerios, I’m afraid.”

He grinned, and then pointed to the opposite side of the pantry. “I want spaghetti-o’s!”

Now, of course spaghetti-o’s are not a traditional breakfast food, but Team Oster is willing to break with tradition for the sake of saving time. (Seriously, spaghetti-o’s can’t be any worse than sugary cereal or whoknowswhatsinthe sausage, right?)

Jiro took his seat and I set about heating up the spaghetti-o’s while simultaneously loading the dishwasher, dolling out vitamins, and making smoothies. Meanwhile Satchel came floating in and sat down next to Jiro.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked innocently.

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know? I just got here. Why would you ask me a question like that?” Satchel said.

He’s a little cranky in the mornings.

I listed the same options for him that I listed for Jiro, with the added option of spaghetti-o’s.

“I’ll have spaghetti-o’s,” he said.

Perfect, I thought.

“NO!” Jiro screeched.

“Honey, there’s plenty of spaghetti-o’s for you both,” I said.

“I want the whole thing!” he demanded.

I walked over to the pantry and pointed out that we had two more cans of spaghetti-o’s and that should there not be enough in one can I could make more.

“NO!” he screeched again.

I decided to ignore him and hope for the best. I started asking questions, like “Do you want sprinkled cheese on top?” and “Do you want bread to dip?” and “Do you want a plastic spoon or a metal spoon?” in order to distract him.

Once hot and bubbly, I doled out the o’s and presented each monkey with his specific order. (Bread and a plastic spoon for Satchel; Cheese and a metal spoon for Jiro.) Satchel happily started eating, but Jiro made a face and put his head down in protest.

“Come on, honey,” I said. “You can share.”

By now Warren had made his way into the kitchen. He asked what was wrong with Jiro and I explained the situation. He did a really cute thing where he made his hand into a face and pretended to eat Jiro’s spaghetti-o’s. I could see Jiro smiling, and thought that this would do the trick, but he still insisted on having his own can of spaghetti-o’s.

Warren gave me the look and I nodded. “Oh, ok, I’ll get you your own can,” he said as he walked toward the pantry. I rinsed out the pot and put it back on the stove. Warren, with his back to Jiro, pretended to open a new can while strategically placing the already opened can next to the pot. Then he took Jiro’s original bowl of spaghetti-o’s and emptied them into a new bowl and then popped them in the microwave. I got out the sprinkle cheese and gave the new bowl a fresh dusting.

Thirty seconds later Jiro had what appeared to be his very own spaghetti-o’s. He smiled, but just before taking a bite, he put his spoon down and looked at me. Oh no, I thought. Busted.

“Can I have a plastic spoon?” he asked sweetly.

“Sure,” I said.

When he finally started eating, Warren and I gave each other a covert high five.