Mornings were filled with buttery and maple aromas, sounds of cracks and sizzles and the promise of delicious starts served on a platter. I remember racing to brush my teeth and wash my face so I could earn a seat at breakfast and indulge on the sweetness of love and affection. Those mornings of yesteryear bring a smile to my face and help remind me of the truth behind the food when I wake up now and sometimes battle with my body and my kitchen.
Inevitably the beauty of breakfast was forced into submission by the need to rush off to school in my trendy Wet Seal outfits, enhancing my emerging curves and outlining my small middle. I had one of those stomachs that chatted too much and would tell any onlooker what I had consumed just minutes before, poking and stretching and taunting the waistlines of my jeans. So I trained myself to form a less than healthy relationship with my new trustworthy friends at the time: a glass of water and half a banana because they knew how to keep a secret.