Page 1 of Dear Debbie

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FROM DEAR DEBBIE DRAFTS FILE

Dear Debbie,

You always tell us in your fabulous column that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I believe you! But is my family ever willing to sit down and eat it? Not a chance.

Every morning it’s the same circus. My kids are searching for missing shoes or homework assignments that vanished overnight, and my husband can’t find his keys or reading glasses. Nobody is interested in taking five minutes to sit down at the kitchen table to enjoy the perfectly good breakfast that I just spent the last fifteen minutes cooking up.

I’ve tried everything! Quick meals, grab-and-go options, bribery (don’t ask!), but no matter what I do, my family always leaves the house with empty bellies!

How on earth am I supposed to get my family to take a few minutes to eat a nutritious breakfast before they dash out the door without so much as a goodbye? Help me, Debbie!

Hungry in Hingham

Dear Hungry in Hingham,

Indeed, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It boosts your energy levels and alertness, and if you don’t get a healthy breakfast, you can feel sluggish all day long. In children and adolescents, a nutritious breakfast can improve recall and focus for school.

If your family isn’t interested in having breakfast, try to probe to see what sorts of foods might tempt them to take those crucial extra 15 minutes in the morning. Some people prefer a bowl of cereal, others might want pancakes, and others might want a full breakfast with eggs and bacon and whole grain toast. Find out what your family likes best, and cater to those desires!

And if that doesn’t work, I would recommend installing a padlock on the front and back door of your house. First thing in the morning, lock both doors from the inside, and keep the key in your pocket. Let everyone know that they will not be leaving the house until they have consumed a healthy breakfast. If they seem hesitant, a simple threat to swallow the key unless they sit down and eat will surely move things along.

I have no doubt you will soon be enjoying a wonderful daily breakfast with your family!

Debbie

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DEBBIE

I have been forbidden to speak to my daughter Lexi in the morning.

Lexi imposed this rule around when she started high school, and now that she is a senior, it remains rigidly in place. The rule was implemented when Lexi decided she didn’t like it when I dared to ask her “How are you?” first thing in the morning, and she simply didn’t “feel like talking right now, my God, Mom.”

So midway through freshman year, Lexi officially announced that I was no longer permitted to speak to her during early morning hours. And if I attempt any form of communication—verbal or nonverbal—she will snap at me and say, “What did I tell you?” Or possibly worse, glare at me with that look.

You know what look I mean. At least if you have teenagers, you know.

So when Lexi marches into our kitchen on this Wednesday morning, I don’t say a word. I just keep eating my bowl of cornflakes—the kind with extra fiber. (Now that I’m in my forties, anything that has a lot of fiber is an auto buy.) It’s easy to remember not to talk to Lexi, because she has a pair of giant headphones covering her ears. She’s always wearing those headphones. It’s possible they have fused with the temporal bones of her skull.

Lexi has her hair in a messy ponytail that looks as though she tied it last night or perhaps even several days ago and hasn’t gotten around to adjusting it. She’s wearing an oversize hoodie, which looks like something one might sleep in, and that impression is not helped by the fact that she’s wearing plaid pajama pants. It’s not pajama day at school or anything. This is what kids wear now. I find it distasteful, but on the other hand, I’m also jealous. I wish I could wear pajama pants every day.

Between my two kids, Lexi is the one who looks like me—a fact I’m sure is terribly embarrassing to her. She has the same delicate bone structure in her face and a similar dark shade to her slightly wavy hair. Like me, schoolwork comes easy to her, which is why she’s taking four AP classes this year and a number theory class because she already took AP Calculus BC last year.

Like me, she might be a little too smart for her own good.

Lexi doesn’t so much as glance at me as she makes a beeline for the refrigerator, although she casts a derisive look at the cans I have stacked on the kitchen counter for the canned food drive. Everything I do is a combination of embarrassing and aggravating. However, my most unforgivable crime of all was naming her Alexa. In my defense, how was I supposed to know Alexa would become a thing?

Lexi casts a look over her shoulder and does a double take when she sees me. She’s itching to comment, but that would break her eternal vow of silence. The internal struggle is real.

Finally, I break her. It’s the lipstick—I never wear lipstick.

“What are you so dressed up for, Mom?” she wants to know.

I take another bite of my fiber cereal, then dab my lips with a napkin. I’m more of a T-shirt-and-yoga-pants kind of mom, so it surprises her to see me in a dress and full makeup. I even blow-dried my hair instead of leaving it damp in a ponytail.

“The photographers from Home Gardening are coming today,” I remind her. “They’re taking pictures of the yard.”