It was cool enough this morning that it was hard to get out of bed for school. Number One Son, the less cuddly of the two, dove under our covers in search of warmth after the alarm rang, and there was simply no goading Little One, newly branded first grader, out of his nest. Friday, oatmeal day, and no one could face the prospect of the instant stuff, no matter how much sugar they add to it. So I grabbed a sweater to pull over my nightie (I’m not ready to give up on the white cotton of summer yet!), and traipsed downstairs.
A good sized pot, two heaping scoops of oats, and lots of water soon boil and turn into that thick, lumpy mixture that Number One has dubbed ‘manly oatmeal’ (said, of course, with a deep, manly voice and much flexing of arm muscles). He likes his studded with raisins and liberally sprinkled with demerrara sugar. Little One needs lots of jam added to his to entice him from under the warm covers, but it works, once I add a lake of sweet soy milk.
And send my two manly boys off to school, this cool autumn morning.
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