My wife has a particular affection for the Swedish version of the Italian Saint who carried Dante through Purgatorio. Lucia, wonderfully potent and tragic as so many of the canonized women are, is commemorated in our favorite European country in a variety of ways, including meatballs and lindenberry preserves, a crown studded with candles (now gratefully with bulbs instead of flames), and the eldest daughter serves her parents breakfast in bed.
Our two oldest decided to celebrate by making us breakfast in bed. The 6-year-old told us to let her take care of it herself–she didn’t need our input. We reminded the 4-year-old to beware the toaster oven, and let them at it (breakfast didn’t start until 9.30am).
a plain piece of white bread
a frozen bagel
a piece of white bread with a smear of strawberry cream cheese.
a piece of buttered toast, cut neatly into two identical pieces
a slightly less frozen bagel with butter and jelly
a toasted half-bagel
two spoiled kiwis
two ripe bananas
6 hard-boiled quail eggs (we’ve started keeping a supply in the fridge because the kids love them)
two bags of Beehive cheese curds (dill, yum)
a constant stream of commentary “Dad’s eating it. Mom liked that one.”
and a lot of merry cavorting on our rickety old bed. We finished about an hour later, our sheets filled with crumbs and eggshell fragments.