The Tibbles have French toast nearly every single morning for breakfast. At least on the mornings I’m there to get them off to school. Frankly, I’m a little sick of French toast but when I was a kid my dream would have been to have French toast every morning before school, so I make it for them. Plus, Sister #3 has a kickass electric griddle that makes whipping up eight pieces of French toast easy peasy.
Most mornings our conversation consists of how the Green Bay Packers are stupid and/or poop their pants and/or are babies (these are the most heinous insults the under-10 crowd can imagine). Yesterday we discussed the Boy Scouts and discrimination.
Today, Nolan was late getting to breakfast. When he finally appeared at the table he was sporting a shirt with two guitars on it. One guitar had a speech bubble floating above it that said, “You rock.” The other guitar’s bubble said, “No, you rock.”
Cade and Liam thought this was the most hilarious shirt ever, and through mouthfuls of peanut butter slathered French toast they would say, “you rock. no, you rock.” Yeah, I’m not quite sure I get the hilarity of it either.
After a few minutes, I joined in the fun. “No,” I said. “I rock.”
“No,” Liam said putting his fork down. “You are a rock.”
“Did you just call me a rock?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.