Breakfast. It's not for breakfast anymore.

I am having a very hard time with breakfast these days.

First off, I pretty much hate sweet foods (before you start chucking things at your monitor, rest assured...I more than make up for the calorie deficit that occurs because I can easily pass up a chocolate mousse by eating FAR more than my fair share of pizza).

For whatever reason, breakfast foods seem to be loaded with sweetness. From cereals to pancakes to french toast to...well, you get it.

Ah! But Christine! How about the savory delights of quiche? And toast dripping with butter? Or a bagel slathered in cream cheese?

Sigh, yes. That is what I prefer for breaking my fast in the morning after a cup or three of java (the first of which my husband brings to me while I am still in bed)(~ducking again~).

Sadly, I have gone wheat-free.

But why, Christine? Why? Are you un-American? Are you against those golden waves of grain?

Wow. That's stretching it a bit. Let's get back on topic, 'kay? My eliminating wheat stems from an odd confluence of events, and quite honestly it's not a very interesting story. Suffice it to say that I realized that it might be a good idea to eliminate wheat.

I tried it.

It was good.

So while this not eating wheat is making all meals tough, breakfast is the hardest hit. I feel like I'm on a no-carb diet every morning...my go-to meal is a scrambled egg conglomeration of whatever we have on hand. It usually consists of eggs (derrrr), cheese, and perhaps spinach or red bell peppers. Deeeelish!

But not so delish day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after FREAKING day...

The other snag is that I am super lazy in the mornings. I have never woken up fast, nor easily (see above, how hubby has to bribe me to wake up with coffee delivered bedside). What this means is, if my husband isn't making me some egg concoction, in all likelihood I'll just scrape together something, like rye crackers and cream cheese. Or a pre-hardboiled egg. Or a handful of lunch meat (EWWW!).

So, I beg you...help me. Do you have any suggestions as to what I can eat for breakfast? Something savory, not sweet. Easy to prepare in advance that is also wheat free?

If you are a lurker and have an idea, please de-lurke. I need some serious help here in the Non-Sweet, Non-Wheat Recipes for Breakfast Department.

If you were a fly on the wall in our house...

...you'd likely hear something along these lines:

Me: Hey, do we have any Diet Coke?

Hubby: Nope!

Me: (bats eyelashes in an exaggerated manner)

Hubby: Fine! (grabs car keys and heads to store)

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Hubby: Hon, this cheesecake is delicious.

It's dense, but not too rich.

Me: Hmmmm, kinda like you.

Hubby: (beat) Good one!

Me: I aim to please.


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Hubby: Have I seen the staple gun recently?

Me: I have no idea, I still don't have access to your retinas. (taps foot)

Hubby: Oh, yeah...I'll work on that.

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Me: Why did I ever marry you, you prick?***

***Okay, I didn't say that one. In fact, my husband suggested I include it here.

If I may interrrupt the guest posting for just a minute...

Let's give a big interwebs Happy Birthday to my husband!

As you read this, I am entrenched in BlogHerDom. He, however, is running around San Fransisco with our youngest two kiddies. No complaints from him that his birthday is all about me and my bloggy lovefest...how awesome is he?

Super awesome. He's my best friend, my ultimate confidante, my LUVV-ER, my bestest half. He's the father of my FBNOML (who might as well be of my loins, I love her so much), the Daddy to the two kiddies I birthed myself, my partner in crime and the one person who knows me better than anyone else.

So Happy Birthday, Mr. watch me! No, watch me!

I love you. Sorry I'm stumbling into the hotel room drunk tonight. It's those dang blogging beyotches. I'll try not to wake up the kids.

You, I'll wake up.

One more time when I really, really had to pee

This is the final episode in a three-part series (OR IS IT???) detailing in mind-numbing depth three separate occasions where I, Christine, had to pee very, very badly and managed to inconvenience strangers and/or loved ones to accommodate my walnut-sized bladder. You've heard about trains and automobiles, so naturally we should talk about planes.

In the clouds somewhere; Winter 1995

So, I was twenty seven and newly in love with a guy I'd met some years prior and had been interested in, but for a variety of reasons things died before they ignited for us. I'd always wondered about him, and when the opportunity to reconnect presented itself (okay, I sought it out) I was thrilled. I (we) fell madly in love. The downside? We lived about 1,100 miles apart at that point...but my life was fairly malleable as I was a med student and could study there as easily as at home; he was working in the real world so he could afford to fly me out to him. I did so often.

On one bizarre flight, I boarded a puddle jumper as my final connection. Of course I had my ever-present water bottle in hand. Once we were in the air and we were given the go-ahead to undo our seatbelts, I popped mine open and headed towards the lavatories (if you read my train post, this next part will ring familiar.

Nothing. No bathrooms.

Oh, no. Not again!!!

I went back to my seat and looked at my watch. We had a good forty-five minutes left in the air. At least. Once again I squirmed in my seat, trying to figure out what the hell I would do. A flight attendant walked by and I waved her over, "Are there ANY bathrooms on this flight?" I asked.

"No, this is one of the few in our fleet that isn't equipped with a lavatory," she answered.

"Look, I really have to go. Is there one hidden somewhere here?"

Yes, I asked that. The plane probably sat like thirty people...the cabin was one big open area. What did I think she would say?

"Why yes, in this overhead storage compartment we keep one for emergencies!!!"

So I shifted. Did the sitting on my heal thing again. Looked out the window and wondered if there was an airport close by while simultaneously knowing no way was the pilot going to create a miracle for me like the Spanish conductor did.

Still, I had hope. Hope that the flight attendant was lying. Hope that the pilots would take huge mercy, or something. Finally, in desperation, I walked up to the cockpit doors and knocked. The co-pilot opened the door (I KNOW! Isn't that weird now?).

"I'm very sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering how long until we landed. I'm not feeling very well." It was true.

"It'll be another twenty minutes or so. Is there something we can do for you?"

"Um, no. I just don't feel well and I could really use a bathroom."

His face was totally sympathetic but I knew at that moment I was doomed. They didn't have a special cockpit potty. They weren't going to do an emergency landing for my bladder relief. I was screwed.

I shuffled back to my seat and strategized. I was already several minutes past the point of not knowing second to second how long I had until the dam burst. I knew my boyfriend was at the gate waiting for me (I KNOW! I miss people waiting at the gate.) and thus showing up with pee drenched pants was simply not an option. Because if I was meeting someone else it would have been totally fine, right?.

So I did what anyone else would do. I whipped off my scarf and shoved it down my pants and arranged it in my panties (I don't actually call them panties out loud), creating a makeshift Depends. I figured if I leaked it would at least absorb SOME of my urine.

Happily, it served the unexpected purpose of relieving my bladder of its feeling of urgency and allowed me to make it to the gate. Once there I hugged my boyfriend, told him I had to pee, and bolted to the closest bathroom. Later, I told my then-boyfriend the whole story, and as we laughed together I thought that meant I'd for sure found my soulmate...he loved me, almost-pee-drenched scarf and all.

I was wrong. My true soulmate, my husband, laughs at this story along with me despite the fact that he wasn't the guy waiting at the gate. And he has brought me black coffee in bed every single morning since we've been together (but refuses to bring me water too late at night).

I am a lucky woman.