This morning, at half past breakfast when my tummy rumblings had started to escalate, I gracelessly heaved myself off the couch and headed to the kitchen. I popped one slice of bread in the toaster for Maggie, and one for Addie. Chloe, preferring her daily breakfast of chocolate shredded wheat, declined. The toast popped up, I buttered and jammed it, cut it into triangles and passed it to the girls. I then put two pieces of bread in the toaster for myself.
No sooner had my toast popped up when I heard, "Mom, I'm done, I want more!" from Addie. Being the noble, self-sacrificing mother that I am (and because I had not yet entered the "I'm going to pass out if I don't eat right now" stage of pregnancy hunger), I passed my first piece off to her. I then prepared the second piece with butter and a generous helping of strawberry freezer jam. As I brought it to my mouth to take my first delicious bite, I heard, "Mom! I done! I want more!" from my littlest daughter. Again, I passed my breakfast to my starving offspring. I sighed, put two more pieces of bread in the toaster, and waited for them to brown.
As soon as they popped up, Addie again asked for more. This time, I declined her request and directed her back to the half eaten apple she had abandoned earlier because it, "Made her tummy hurt. " Apparently it was still not a good option because then she turned her eyes to Maggie's still untouched second piece of (my) toast. Fighting ensued. And so I excused myself to the other room and enjoyed my toast at last, whilst ignoring the bickering from the kitchen table. I finished my breakfast, returned to the kitchen and found they had abandoned the table for the great outdoors. The toast sat on the table, seemingly untouched. I remained in the kitchen and washed the dishes while chatting on the phone with a friend.
When the kitchen was clean, I started to walk through the dining area to check on the backyard. To my horror, I discovered half a dozen very gooey, very jammy footprints on the floor. Where had they come from? Where did they go? HOW DID THE BOTTOM OF FEET GET COATED IN JAM? The toast looked untouched, and each footprint seemed to contain an amount of jam equal to the original jam on the bread. Horrified, I checked the carpet but could see no continuation of the trail. It was a mystery, one I'm afraid I will never solve. However, I will ponder it every time I stick to the kitchen floor until I finally am grossed out enough to mop it.
I can tell you the final ending for that last piece of toast, though. Hours later, Addie rediscovered its existence and asked if she could have it. Maggie saw that Addie was eating it and was immediately enraged and desperate to eat the toast herself. Addie shared, a little. Both parties ended up wholly unsatisfied with the results, which led to yelling and threats, which I may or may not have participated in.
Tomorrow I will tell them we are out of bread.