“So we have Cheerios, cornflakes, waffles, toast, eggs fried or scrambled, bananas, berries and yogurt.”

“What was the second?”

“Cornflakes. can I get you some?”

“Nope.”

Not since a long-ago stint as a diner waitress had I had to work this hard—and for such little thanks—to sell some scrambled eggs. From the time my son, Aidan (now 7), started to eat regular food until the time he was 5, breakfast was the worst part of my day. And this was a kid who normally liked to eat. He once listed “baby carrots” as his favorite food in nursery school. But I just could not find anything he wanted to eat for breakfast. Ever. Of course I constantly heard breakfast being touted as the most important meal of the day. So each morning I’d persevere. Putting on my most pleasant waitress voice, I’d start with “What would you like for breakfast?” “what do we have?” he’d answer. And I’d start the list all over again.

We were late for school more often than I care to recount. Plus, I was racked with guilt as I started my workday: What if he told his preschool teachers I was starving him? Even though they served snacks at 10 a.m., what if he passed out from hunger? What if they thought I was...a bad mother...for not making him a good morning meal?

The irony: I love breakfast! Pillowy pancakes, crispy bacon, flaky croissants? Bring it on! When my husband proposed, he made me French toast (with real maple syrup, proving his true love). How could my kid not want the a.m. comfort food I crave? No deal. Lunch, yes. Dinner, great. breakfast for dinner? never. A fun school lunch of pancakes? Yuck!

And so it began every morning, me reciting an ever growing list of options, Aidan perhaps swallowing a few odd crumbs of bread or dry cereal as we tore out the door. Once, when I hit an especially low point, I actually made a menu, complete with crayoned pictures, of his morning options. Nope.

When Aidan started kindergarten, I finally resorted to asking, “If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?” “Meat.” By which he meant the cold cuts I used to make his lunch. With trembling hands, I layered some salami and ham and bread on a plate. He ate it all. The next day “grilled cheese” was his order. Dairy, carbs, protein— all the hallmarks of breakfast. Savory food, it turns out, was to be my savior.

Since that momentous discovery, I’ve made, and served with a professional smile, macaroni and cheese, antipasto platters, even leftover lo mein, all before 8 a.m., to Aidan’s delight. And much as I’d love to flip him some flapjacks, I do have to admire my son’s developing preferences and taste buds. So I now start the day with “Can I get you a grilled cheese?” A bad mother? No. A happy waitress? You bet.