Going to Breakfast

My son made me proud today.   It was in a strange, only would make a mother—this particular mother—proud kind of way, but it was enough for me.   He asked me why we didn’t go out to breakfast.   He said he wanted to go out to breakfast and could we do that one morning.  

I told him sure, we could do it one day this weekend as my brain quickly ran through breakfast restaurants in my mind that wouldn’t be too busy (I hate long waits or waits at all for that matter).  I also like good breakfast food.   I came up with one idea but it wasn’t my favorite.

My son said, “what about Biscuitville, mom?”   If I could have hugged him from the front seat, I would have.   Biscuitville isn’t high-class; it’s fast food breakfast food—but it’s good.   Or at least it’s what I call good mostly because I’ve eaten it since college and it has a special place in my mind when it comes to breakfast food.

So we made a date to go one morning, possibly even a school morning if he wants to get up early enough.   Hopefully soon because now I want some Biscuitville breakfast food too.

The Big Boy Update:   When we talked about Biscuitville this morning my son asked me, “do the Vietnamese all work there?”  I  have no idea where he got this idea, but I told him no, it was all sorts of people who worked at this southern breakfast restaurant.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My husband likes to make his steak dinner spicy.   My daughter does not particularly like her steak spicy.   But she likes dessert more, so she suffered through six bites so she could have a popsicle.   Everyone won I suppose.