There was a time when my mornings began with my children. Before they woke up, I was already thinking about what they would eat. Breakfast first. Then the lunchboxes. Then the snacks. There was always something to prepare, something to pack, something to remember. I would stand in the kitchen while the house was still quiet, making breakfast and thinking about what would keep them full until lunchtime. Sometimes it was something simple—eggs, bread, fruit, or whatever we had at home. Other mornings meant cooking something they particularly liked because I knew that a good breakfast ...





