It was recently expressed to me by someone special they they didn't ever want a relationship that was like oatmeal. I assumed that this pointed to all the bad points of oatmeal and agreed emphatically. Who wants plain, old fashioned, bland, purely traditional, and non-fussy, to describe their relationship with the love of their life. Seriously, who really wants the rest of their lives to be so boring as oatmeal?
Except that oatmeal has it's good points too. It is supposed to reduce the risk of heart disease right? Not to mention it helps to lower cholesterol, balance blood sugars, aid digestion, and regulate blood pressure. It's also warm and comforting. And is there really so much wrong with being traditional?
But I do understand what they were saying to me. Because I don't want an oatmeal love either. I want fun and surprises and PDA and googly eyes. I want to still be twitterpated when I'm 80. While it takes work to maintain the newness in a relationship, it's incredibly important for me. I don't ever want to fall into a love rut. How are you supposed to deal with dirty socks and midnight feedings while in a love rut?!? That just doesn't sound like something I would willingly want to agree to.
Hey, I love you. You love me. Wanna get married and be in an oatmeal love rut for the rest of forever and raise 11 kids?
Although they didn't give an alternate breakfast food to be the analogy for the ideal relationship, I'll venture to say it's something more like stuffed french toast. Which is incredibly far away from oatmeal on the scale of breakfast boredom. Because, let's face it, if it's French it's sexy.
My morning ritual consists of a bowl of oatmeal. Because I'm retraining myself to eat breakfast. And because there's a lot to do before lunch. When one cup of water with a pinch of salt boils in my pan I throw in 1/2 cup old fashioned oats and cook it for 3-4 minutes. This morning when I reached for the plain, old fashioned, purely traditional, non-fussy oats and pulled them from the cupboard I also knocked the cupcake/muffin cups out of the cupboard. As they fell in slow motion I reached out with my groggy left hand to snatch them out of the air with cat-like reflexes. Those reflexes that work so well before coffee at 4:30 am.
Needless to say the little package was swatted by my hand in a way that was too perfect to plan and the lid popped off of the container and little cupcake/muffin cups sorta went flying. Everywhere. The only reaction I could muster was a giggle. Because let's face it, it was funny. And there were now muffin cups all over the floor.
As I was picking up all those pesky little cups I noticed that I didn't mind that they were all over the floor. And not because it was my 4:30 am stupor. It's because what I had found was already better than oatmeal.