It’s a bright morning, the kind of day that feels full of promise and potential. My husband Mitchel and I are sitting in the living room with our two children, a toddler girl named Olivia and a 5-year-old boy named Andrew. Sunlight casts a warm glow over the carpet where toys, books, and a blanket fort are staged. The television is broadcasting Saturday morning cartoons, and we discuss our dreams from the night before. The gurgling of the coffeepot can be heard from the kitchen and the smell of coffee wafts into the room. The day stretches ahead invitingly with no work or school obligations pressing, a perfect opportunity for family bonding and completing homestead tasks. The pace is unhurried and the mood is light as the cartoons end and I shepherd my family into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
Weekend breakfasts are a big deal in our household, and I pride myself in making a meal you could order in a greasy spoon diner. I open the refrigerator to discover leftover boiled potatoes, fresh eggs, and the pound of ground pork that defrosted from last night. Based on the contents of the refrigerator, I decide that we will prepare hashbrowns, eggs, and sausage. I have two sous chefs and an assistant who will help me prepare the food.
I locate the box grater and ask Andrew to help grate potatoes. He excitedly pushes a chair over to the counter where the potatoes, grater, and cutting board are staged. As he begins to grate potatoes, I hear Olivia screeching in protest as she toddles over to the chair, climbs up, and uses all her strength to push Andrew off the chair. Andrew grunts in frustration as he struggles to maintain his position, gripping both hands on the counter. Sensing a conflict, I push a second chair over to the counter and place Olivia there. Olivia then contents herself with eating cold potatoes while Andrew continues his task.
I proceed to my next job, preparing the seasoning for the pork sausage. I slide past my son and daughter to gain access to the spice cabinet. After spinning the lazy Susan a couple of times, I extract brown sugar, sage, paprika, salt, and pepper, then mix these spices in the proper ratio before adding the ground pork. I squeeze the pork/spice mixture, trying to ignore the discomfort from cold exposure. After the sausage is properly mixed, I divide it into 4 uneven balls: a small one for Olivia, a medium one for Andrew, a large one for me, and an extra-large one for Mitchel. Mitchel then stages two plates and two pieces of saran wrap, positioning the two plastic pieces between the plates. He places the pork balls one by one between the two plastic pieces, using his weight to flatten the balls into sausage patties.
While Mitchel is preparing the sausage patties, the cast iron skillet is preheating. As the patties are formed, I place them into the skillet and hear the characteristic sizzle. The kitchen begins to fill with the smell of rendering fat and toasting spices, blending well with the nutty coffee undertones. After the sausage bottoms are properly browned, they release easily from the pan as I flip them.
By this time, Andrew has grated most of the potatoes, and I place them into a bowl. I also add dehydrated onion, celery, garlic, and green pepper, salt, and black pepper. The sausage patties are removed from the pan and placed on a plate. The rendered sausage fat is used to flavor and brown the grated potatoes. In this way, nothing is wasted.
As the hash browns cook in the pan, I remove the eggs from the refrigerator. I crack the eggs, and Olivia insists on crushing the eggs to release the yolk and white. Some eggshells inevitably find their way into the clear and marigold-colored mixture, but I do not mind expending extra effort to extract them. I add a splash of milk, a few shakes of salt, and freshly cracked pepper. I then pass the scrambling fork to Olivia. She beams with pride as she blends the ingredients. I am close by with a rag to wipe up spills.
The smell of browned potatoes intermingles with the pork sausage, making my mouth water. I flip the potatoes, remove a stainless-steel pan from my kitchen drawer, place it on the stove, and turn the dial to high heat. The stove clicks to life, and blue flames emanate from the burner. I point out the hot stove, then show Olivia and Andrew how a stainless-steel pan can be made non-stick by heating the pan hot enough for the water to dance rather than instantly evaporate.
Once the pan is ready, I add oil, then ask Andrew to add the scrambled egg mixture. Steam rises from the pan as the eggs rapidly cook. I trust Andrew to stir the eggs until they are mostly cooked while remaining close by in case I am needed. When the eggs are ready, they slide effortlessly from the pan onto a plate. I remove the hashbrown skillet from the stove and place it in the middle of the table.
I thank my family for their help with preparing the meal. Olivia has already climbed onto her dining chair booster seat in anticipation. While I finish prepping, Mitchel places appropriate amounts of eggs, hashbrowns, and sausage on her plate, cuts the food, and allows her to eat. She squeals in approval as she dives into the sausage, then asks for a cup of milk. Andrew also starts with the sausage, then the eggs, then the hashbrowns.
Mitchel and I discuss our plans for the day as we savor our meal and our time together. Andrew shares interesting facts about his newest fascination, the Titanic. The eggs are creamy and rich with a velvety texture. The pork imparts an earthy, well-rounded taste that pairs well with the crispy exterior and juicy interior. The hashbrowns offer a pleasant balance of saltiness and a satisfying crunch. The trio together makes for an excellent meal, and a great way for me to bond with my family.
After breakfast, I collect the dishes to wash. Olivia and Andrew push chairs to the sink and play in the water while I wash the dishes. As I dip my hands in the warm soapy water, I feel a deep sense of pride in their burgeoning skills. Each small success, whether it’s a perfectly cracked egg or a well-seasoned hashbrown, sparks a gleam of confidence that I know will serve them far beyond the kitchen.
The warmth of these moments lingers long after the plates are cleared and the dishes are washed. We share stories, swap jokes, and sometimes, simply enjoy the quiet comfort of working side by side. These are the moments when our bond grows stronger, forged in the gentle rhythm of morning routines and the shared satisfaction of a meal made together. I treasure these simple rituals, knowing they nourish more than just our bodies. They plant seeds of independence, resilience, and togetherness in my children and our family. Years from now, I hope they will remember not just the taste of homemade sausage, but the feeling of belonging, capability, and love that filled our kitchen these mornings. These memories, built one breakfast at a time, are the true sustenance of our family.
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