I planted some chard in the garden box this weekend. Good thing, too, as I’m coming to the end of last year’s greens in the freezer.

Conor brought maple syrup home from Vermont, which requires blueberry pancakes for breakfast.

And by “breakfast” I mean that meal you have at 2 pm before your afternoon nap and after you’ve put on real pants for the day. 

For birthdays: boil an egg, peel away the last year, start anew.

Taiwanese breakfast things are kind of an intense way to start the day:

• stinky tofu
• fried bread thing
• scallion pancake
• pastry filled with egg and garlic chives
• soup dumplings

Scones from Sip and The Green Bean in Northhampton.

“It’s very asian at my house.”

“How asian?”

“Like. So asian.”

There is no way to avoid feeling sort of forlorn about making and eating pancakes alone on a Saturday morning. Toast is a triumph. Eggs are empowering. Pancakes, though? Pancakes feel sad.

Weekday breakfast on a morning where I am almost not late to work (soon, really, I will be good at this).

“We should get some potatoes and fruit for breakfast,” I say.

“Yes,” he says. “Also, toaster waffles.”

Oh look, a bagel.

Stayed out/stayed up too late. Here’s hoping flaxseed and berries will get me through the day.

Breakfast: eggs, chard, toast.

Most of my choices are good choices. The others are waffles.

Excerpts from breakfast, lunch and dinner:

• fruit, cereal, and greek yogurt
• shellfish over grits at Magnolia’s
• chocolate hazelnut budino with salted caramel and olive oil croutons at FIG

Breakfast: Buttered toast, toast with almond butter and jam, yogurt with mint, coffee.