1st Grade-1st Born: Breakfast in Bed

I was sleeping-a deep covetous sleep.  My pillow-cool.  The air-whirling in slow-mo under the ceiling fan.  The bladder-a nonissue. I woke enough to be gratefully aware of this beautiful silent moment.

My three year old baby tip-toed in.  Squinting the open one, I spied (one-eye closed).  I watched him.  Do not let him sense your awakedness.  He will pounce immediately and devour you with eeeks and screeches that shall not be heard this close to sunrise.  I shall make myself small as a mouse and crafty as a cat.  I will be cunning and undetectable near my pillow. 

"THERE!" he said and I jumped.  His back was turned.  He had my radio in hand and was changing the station, changing the frequency, changing the band to AM.  Weather.
He left my room, and the radio was left cock-eyed.

I closed mine.

My six year old came in, her presence was as loud as ever, but to my surprise, she was not.  She rustled two magazines from under her arm to my side table; stood silent touching her chin.  She moved them to my bed instead and topped them in with a sheet of paper.  She left.  By her delightful penmanship, I could tell she took stalk in what she'd written on black construction paper with white chalk:

DRINK
Tee
Cough Fee
Wadr

FOOD
Bis Cut
Tosted Bag L
Wafls (note, I need help if you want these)
Pie (but we don't have any, can you get some next trip out to the store)

My middle son walked into the room with a bathroom towel over his arm and put a wooden  casserole spoon on the pillow and he left.  He came back. 
"What would you like from the menu today?"
"Oh," I said graciously, "I would love a moment to read over it.  How about you bring me a coffee while I decide."
He bowed and left.
Daddy delivered a coffee to my bed side and left.

My server son walked in behind him, "we have rules with hot things at this restaurant."

"Sounds like it's going to rain later," I attempted to cover the unavoidable weakness.

"We also have rules about crumbly things being upstairs, so if you'd like to eat something crumbly, you can not-here."

"Oh.  Very Well."  I said, reading the chalk menu.  "I believe---I will have the bagel. Do you have cream cheese?"

He nodded and left the room.  I sipped my coffee, and looked through the weekend sales flyer.

My son brought me cream cheese.

"Oh." I raised my eyebrows.

"Daddy ate the bagel, but we do have cream cheese as you asked."

"Well then.  Thank you...for that!"

"It's okay if you use the wooden spoon to eat it."

My daughter, clearly the manager of the place, filled the room with her undeniable presence.
She graciously said to me, "Thank you for dining with us, Mrs. Mommy."
And she patted a little piece of lined white paper down on my comforter.  She left.

Alone, I took in a sigh, ready to read something as sweet as this morning.  Setting my coffee on a green beaded leaf at the side table I scooped up the note, broke the taped seal.  It simply read:

"That'll be $55.00."