I ate a bowl of leftover cheese crackers for breakfast. I didn’t feel like making food for myself when the kids ate in the morning, but then when 10am rolled around, I couldn’t help but forage for snack leftovers. Then my kids barely touched their lunch, so their cold quesadillas would be mine. No matter. I like their kid food, to be honest, and I don’t want anything to go to waste. But by dinnertime, I’m ready for something a bit more grown up.

I sit in my office upstairs as my youngest rolls trucks around his room and presses buttons on an electronic book. He’s dropped his nap over a year earlier than my other two kids. I’m not ready. So just like with his older siblings, I tell him he doesn’t have to sleep, but we’re going to have quiet time. He needs to rest. I also explain that it’s Mommy’s quiet time, too. I’m not shy about this.

I settle into my chair, a blanket pulled over my lap, coffee at the ready, and a book in hand. His calls begin.

I balance the aluminum tray on one hand and hold a paper grocery bag in the other. As I set my goods on the steps to knock on the door, I rehearse what to say. They’re good friends of mine, people I feel comfortable with and love deeply. But I want to be careful I don’t make their loss hurt more. I walk into the kitchen and the screen door closes behind me. Like a nervous reflex, I blurt out in a bubbly, high-pitched voice, “How’s it going?!” The perkiness sounds abrasive. 

I don’t really want to go slow. I daydream about slow evenings on a front porch (a front porch I don’t currently have, but would love someday) sipping ice-cold lemonade. But let’s be honest. It makes me anxious. Slow means fewer check marks. It’s unsatisfying and even painful. There’s no instant gratification.

My three kids actually napped simultaneously yesterday. It was glorious. I don’t think that’s happened in at least six months, because my twins have dropped their nap for the most part—and it came back to bite us last night when they weren’t asleep until 10pm. But for one afternoon, I savored the quietness while my kiddos slept. And by savored, I mean that I didn’t do anything “productive” and read a book the entire time.

A few weeks ago during one of my all too often food daydreams, a lightbulb suddenly went on in my head. "Why not put that coffee candied bacon I made a while ago on a s'more?!?!" OK, I know the concept of bacon in desserts may be overdone, and I'm sure plenty of people have already thought to use it on a s'more, but it was a revelation to me. Excitement (and drooling) ensued, and I was off to buy bacon.

Woohoo! It's Friday! That means it's a great day to eat cake for breakfast. Don't worry, though - it's coffee cake, which falls in the "desserts that have somehow become completely acceptable for breakfast" category.

Like any good coffee cake, this one boasts a thick layer of crumb topping. Messy? Yes...but so worth it. There's cocoa added to the topping for extra chocolatey goodness. If that's not enough for you, there's also a layer of Nutella running through the middle of the cake.

I watched a TED talk a while ago from Nigerian novelist, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, called, "The Danger of a Single Story." If you haven't seen it yet, stop reading and watch it. It's way more thought-provoking than a blog post about popsicles.

OK, now that you've watched that...

I think it'll be a while before I make this recipe again - not because I didn't like it, but because I made it and ate the entire batch. I started with two pounds of cherries. TWO POUNDS! Gone. Just like that - and that doesn't even take into account the bread and cheese I ate. Oy.