Grits, Eggs, and Hashbrowns

Every weekend, and even some weekdays, for as long as I can remember, I would make them their preferred breakfast: cheese grits, fried eggs, hash browns, and sausage (sometimes bacon).

You know you live in the South and have raised Southern children when one of them regularly asks for grits for breakfast.  

And instant grits would not cut it.  They wanted the real deal.  

Every weekend, and even some weekdays, for as long as I can remember, I would make them their preferred breakfast:  cheese grits, fried eggs, hash browns, and sausage (sometimes bacon).  I soon discovered there was an art to making this–not only because they are particular and like it a certain way, but due to the multi-step process.  It took trial and error, but I finally figured out the process.  For example, how much dried grits made the perfect amount (½ cup for one serving, 1 cup for two).  Or how, at first, they did not like cheese in their grits but came to appreciate a bit of cheese added to them.  And how the eggs had to be fried–with a runny center but not slimy on the top.  I also learned how to properly season the grits with butter, salt, pepper, and garlic powder (otherwise, it would taste like paste).  With time, I got to the point that I could whip up their grits in about 10-15 minutes.   

Making them is one thing. The assembly, however, is a whole new level of artistry.  Once cooked, the ingredients must be layered into a shallow bowl in the following order:

• Hashbrowns on the bottom.   

• The meat must be cut up, mixed into the seasoned, cheesy grits, and poured over the hashbrowns.

• Finally, perfectly fried eggs (usually two) would be placed on the grits.  

When presented to them, they cut up the egg so that the runny yolk seeps into the food and then mix it into an eggy, gritty, potatoey plate of deliciousness.  The final touch would be some squirts of Frank’s or Crystal hot sauce.  

At this point, one of the other kids would wander into the kitchen and, while not as particular as the other, would also request some of what I had just made.  It reached the point that I would just make extra instead of repeating the entire process.  I have made numerous plates of this breakfast concoction over the years.

I enjoy making breakfast for others.  There is something fun about pretending you are a short-order cook in a diner, taking orders, and making sure everything is made quickly and delicious.  The choices would usually range from (for lack of a better description) the grits bowl, to fried or scrambled eggs, to omelets, to pancakes (plain, chocolate chip, or blueberry), to French toast.  I might have grumbled a few times when Amanda and each of the kids wanted something different, but secretly, I loved it.  

As I was making Amanda her weekend French toast and turkey bacon this morning, I realized it had been a while since I had made grits for anyone’s breakfast. It is funny how you don’t even know you missed something until you stopped doing it. Actually, it’s not funny at all–it’s a little heartbreaking.  

I have not made grits for them in a long time.  

The term empty nest is something I have heard all my life but have never experienced until now.  It is yet one more facet of parenting that you have no idea how it feels until you are going through it.  I want to clarify that Amanda and I are not entirely empty-nesters just yet, but I can feel it creeping in.  The youngest is still here; she started her senior year of high school this year.  The oldest, his partner, and their baby live around the corner from us and come over every night for dinner.  But the other two have moved and are living on their own in other cities.  So, to say we are “complete” empty-nesters is a misnomer.  Maybe more “pseudo” empty-nesters.  

Asher has moved to Tampa to work and attend school, and Atticus is attending school in Gainesville. In her essay “I was the Sun, and the Kids Were My Planets,” Beverly Beckham writes that when your kids leave, “It’s not a death. And it’s not a tragedy. But it’s not nothing, either.”  

Our kids have left for school before–Zain moved to Miami (four hours away), and Asher moved to New York. It was never easy to watch them drive or fly away every time they left, but they came home. And I know Atticus's living in Gainesville is not permanent; he will be back someday. But right now, he is not here. 

I work from home, and when Amanda is at Clinic and Ivy is in school, the house is quiet.  Before they left, Asher and Atticus would wander up to my desk, bug me, ask me to make breakfast or lunch, talk about whatever, and generally buzz around the house.  There was quiet, but there was also noise.  Now it’s just quiet.  

I believe one of the details from the Harry Potter universe that, as a parent, would be indispensable is the Weasley clock. 

Every parent would want a clock that magically tells you where each of your children is or might be doing. While I can’t have a clock like this, I have the modern equivalent of the “Find My” app on my iPhone. The kids have always teased me about stalking them on my phone, but I use it just as Mrs. Weasley used her family clock–to check in on her family and see their general location¹.  Sometimes, when I am missing them, I look to see where they are.  I feel better when I see them in their homes.

Some families instantly change their children’s bedrooms into something else once their kids move out.    Amanda and I have not done that, nor will we do that.  Their bedrooms will always be here for them if/when they decide to return.  I am sad that the house is quiet and I am not making breakfast like I used to, or there is no constant family chaos.  But don’t get me wrong.  I am so happy and proud that my kids, now all adults, are plotting out their lives.  I hope they know, and I think they do, that Amanda and I will always be here for them, regardless of their age or station of life.  They can always come home.  There is a quote from one of Amanda’s favorite sci-fi novels, The Vor Game, that says, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”

This is now framed and hanging on our wall.  

I have moments of sadness when I think of how quiet our lives are now.  But I also enjoy time with Amanda; I mean, we finally get some time to ourselves after 23 years–it’s a long time coming.  And truthfully, the sadness is mitigated into joy whenever they call, FaceTime, or just simply decide to drop in.  Or every night when Zain, Bella, and a beaming Quin arrive.  

Watching your kids leave the nest is sad but ultimately ok.  Coming home, though, is everything.  

1.  Ok, maybe this is stalking, but I do it out of love and concern–not nosiness.