This morning I ate

The crust of one daughter’s cinnamon sugar toast.

The last bits of oatmeal from another one’s bowl.

An over-easy egg that my youngest cried for and then screamed “yucky!” when I placed it on her plate.

Two abandoned blueberries.

The remainder of a peanut butter English muffin that my teenager didn’t finish because she needed to straighten her hair before school.

Most mornings I feel like The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Sampling bites from each kid’s spot at the breakfast table.

And now as I sip my lukewarm coffee

I patiently wait for my metamorphosis to take place.