I love breakfast.  Love it.  I think that is partly because most of my life, I'd get sick after eating lunch or dinner, but for some reason I rairly EVER felt sick after eating breakfast.  Also, it was often my quiet time... and when I was little, it was my daddy and me time.  I was an afternoon kindergartener and I'll always remember that year vividly, with breakfast and giggles, and "flying" around the room, car rides in dad's old beater car, his hand crawling across the bench seat like a spider ready to attack with tickles.  And as I got older, weekends meant getting dad to still make me his amazing oatmeal with the excuse that I needed it for my game(s).  (Which, for the record, always worked.)  I love breakfast.  I love making it, and I love eating it, and I love sharing it with people I love and trust to fully just let down and be myself around.  I've talked about this before, I know, so I'll leave off.... but, I want to make this.  And, I hope I marry a man who enjoys breakfast too.  It might devastate me to marry one of those "Oh, I don't really like to eat breakfast people."  I'm not sure I'd even know how else to communicate my love if not with a hot cup of coffee and some tasty warm breakfast food. :/  (hehe.)

This morning, I had a doctor's appointment and Megs got up to work on her paper.  When I got back, we shared warm cinnamon rolls and coffee before parting and running off our separate ways.  I loved it.