A Toddler’s Guide On How To Make 3 A.M. French Toast For His Mom

One of my earliest escapades occurred when I was only 4 years old. The time me and my brother decided to cook breakfast for my mother. My father was overseas at the time, so we kids wanted to do something to cheer her up. We were all sad he was gone. However, we knew the sweet taste of good French toast was also her favorite. In pitch black darkness, at 3 o’clock in the morning I roused from my sleep. I was barely getting out of my toddler years when for some wild reason I woke up in the middle of the night and had the bright idea to make breakfast for my mother. My heart was in the right place, I thought. I had wanted to do something special for my mother. She was and is my everything. Even at 4 years of age I had acknowledged this, and I wanted to do something I just knew she was going to love. However, intentions don’t often line up with capability when you are only 4 years old. I had also acknowledged this, and decided it would be in my best interests to recruit some additional help for this breakfast-making mission. My younger siblings.

My brother Michael is a year younger than me, and it wasn’t too difficult to quietly assist him in getting him out of bed. My youngest brother, Timothy, was the challenge. He was not quite 2 years old yet and it took both of us to drag him up and over the rails of his crib. I was sure that the thump of my brother on the floor was going to be enough to wake my mother up. We waited in the dark, but no one came to see what had made the noise. After shushing my brother quiet, we crept on, focused like Green Berets on a stealth mission.

We were like tiny ninjas, silently making our way down the hall, sneaking past my parents room, through the living room and into the kitchen. I knew we wanted to make my mother’s go-to for us, French Toast. That was our main plan, the ultimate thank-you to our mother. It was all of our favorite breakfasts, and mom really seemed to enjoy making it for us. I remembered, even at the age of 4, for French toast, you needed eggs and pans. My brothers and I managed to pull open the warming drawer at the bottom of the stove and pull out every pan my mother kept there. With our pans scattered all over the kitchen floor, we all took turns breaking open eggs and swirling them around in each of the pans, eggshells and all.

I suppose it was too much to ask for my brothers to not make that much noise. I remember Michael accidentally clipping one pan against another. We froze! The lack of light in the kitchen played games with my ears. I listened hard for any sounds, any indication that my mother might be coming from upstairs to catch us in the kitchen before we could get finished with our surprise. My heartbeat echoed in my own head. After a moment, we continued with our swirling, oblivious to the the dark form which had manifested in the doorway.

“What in the h…”

The lights flooded the kitchen, and all of us were momentarily blinded. My mother stood there, mouth agape, in the doorway.

“Surprise!” One of us shouted. I’m pretty sure it was me.

I don’t remember being spanked that night, although I’m pretty sure that happened. I do recall my mother retelling that night’s fiasco to several people on the phone, and eventually, my father. In the end, she said what we did was sweet, but she was appalled we had gotten up so early in the morning. It was one of our many adventures my siblings and I undertook. Looking back, I think it was our goal to turn our mother into a shaking, nerve-rattled mess. It’s a wonder all four of us managed to survive into adolescence. In the end, it was not enough warning for our mother to keep a closer eye on us. I imagine we could have gotten into a lot less trouble if we had then the security cameras and baby monitors that are available on the market today. My poor mother. She really had her hands full with us. Little did she know, the worst was yet to come.

In my next installment, I’ll explain what bike chains, a steak knife, a swing-set chain, rickety fold-out chairs, a brick wall, a jig-saw machine, and a baseball bat have in common when it comes to us Leo children.

© 2021 Matthew Leo

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Your wordsmith,

Matt

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