Scot and James got up early to make breakfast for Sara. When I left for work, a Fried Egg and glass of OJ were waiting for her to come downstairs. I don't know if anything else was added.
Just as I was leaving though, the boys said 'Dad, something is wrong with the scrambled eggs'. They had decided that a real present would be if Sara not only had her own breakfast, but also, to quote them 'she didn't have to make any breakfast at all today'.
So, upon examination of a very very pale color in the frying pan, Scot and I had the following conversation:
Me- "How many eggs did you use?"
Scot- "5"
Me- "How much milk did you put it?"
Scot- "1 cup"
We turned up the heat and added two more eggs- and some salt and pepper. Things were starting to come together, so Scot commented "That was easy, I knew something wasn't right, I thought maybe they needed like a 1/4 cup of oil or something."
I love that my boys like to cook and especially that they love their mom. Sorry there will be no pictures for this one.
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