The truth about eggs

24 Jul

IMG_20140724_213440_582Writing guides a writer to what’s real. Or writing guides me.

“Write until you hit that nugget of truth,” we’re told.

Write.

Just write.

Kelly calls down the laundry chute to me this morning before work, “Roi, do you want me to make you some eggs?”

“Yes, please!” I tell her, looking up from the fitted sheet I’m folding.

“One or two?”

“Two, please.” Eggs are delicious.

I arrive at the table some time later. My daughter is gnawing on something which is not an egg. She’s reading, too. Breakfast in our house is rarely a family affair. We come and go from the table, pop in and out, sometimes only half-dressed, in search of a shoe, a necklace, a key, hurry through, distracted by the day’s to-do’s, by our books, and by our devices. Breakfast is rarely a family affair, but dinner is. At dinner, devices and books are banned.

But not at breakfast.

“Thank you so much, Honey!” I feel well cared for. It shows. Kelly smiles.

Then she asks Miss E, “Did you not like your eggs, cutie?” They are still on her plate, one tiny bite missing.

“No. You made them all runny. I don’t like that.” She doesn’t look at either of us. She crinkles her nose. She lifts the edge of her bitten egg white with her fork, lets it down again, and turns her attention back to her book.

I’m stunned, although I shouldn’t be.

“That’s good for me to know,” Kelly says. “I make them like that because you used to like them… runny.”

“I don’t like them runny,” Miss E replies without moving her eyes. Kelly nods. Because that’s the truth, Miss E’s truth, here, this minute. She does not like the runny eggs. And she does not like talking. Right now. To us. That is her truth and it’s clear, even before I sit down hours later to write it out.

A few minutes later, I ask her to please thank Mama for trying. She does. Mama seems pleased – which pleases Miss E, too.

Over time, I hope this sort of interaction becomes its own reward — this thanking, acknowledging, making people who care for you feel good. That’s my truth.

That’s my own truth about eggs.

And then I wonder… If we all tell our egg stories, no matter how mundane, amid the stories of spelling bees won, goals kicked into the net, gracious manners and lessons truly deeply learned … If we all tell the truth about eggs, will we see ourselves in one another? Will it make us smarter, wiser, kinder?

As bloggers, as writers, as readers typing in the comment box, as friends emailing with friends, can we build the elusive parenting village in this technologically (dis)connected world with stories as simple as fried or poached or scrambled eggs?

If we write.

Just write.

Just write our own truths about eggs.

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8 Responses to “The truth about eggs”

  1. Elandria Henderson July 25, 2014 at 1:50 am #

    It is what it is; may seem mundane, but it is real – just write! eli

    • RoiAnn July 25, 2014 at 6:42 am #

      Thank you, Elandria 🙂

  2. pepibebe July 25, 2014 at 10:12 pm #

    I’m surprised to see only one comment on this – it’s a lovely piece of writing.

    • RoiAnn July 30, 2014 at 10:19 pm #

      Thank you so much! You make me smile 🙂

  3. Liz_H880 July 27, 2014 at 9:41 am #

    I stumbled across your blog and was instantly enthralled by it. I’m brand new to blogging; I started in May to chronicle my journey into gestational surrogacy.

    What you said about just writing our own truths and building the elusive parenting village was beautiful. The best things I’ve read online, thus far, we’re almost always about the simple truths. Those are the words that have really resonated with me. To me, there is something comforting about being able to truly connect with a writer’s truth despite differences in experience, lifestyle, culture, etc… Like a reminder that, though taking different routes, a similar destination is in mind.

    My 7 year old as recently decided she only likes the whites of boiled eggs. 🙂

    • RoiAnn July 30, 2014 at 10:27 pm #

      Your seven-year-old is now helping me to take deep breaths while watching my own daughter at the breakfast table. Thank you for writing – and for reading – here. I feel like – if we can blog in a way that lets people into how we feel, think, see the world, if we can bridge divides out here on the worldwide web, then maybe, just maybe, we are building empathy and working towards a peaceful planet. Cheesy? Maybe. And yet… true. And now I want to go read your blog!

  4. Shawn Shahin August 10, 2014 at 12:24 pm #

    I remember as a kid I’d only eat the whites, never the yolks! Then, gradually, I would accept the yolk, but always cooked over hard, as firm as they get. That lasted through college, and since my spouse, the chef in our family agreed that running told were horrid, it was symbiosis. Then my son came along, loving food in all ways, and accepting all things, content to be flexible. So, he was served yolks hard, until one day a few years ago, at a restaurant he asked about and encouraged us to try soft-boiled eggs. Suddenly, a whole new world opened up, and I was eating “eggs and soldiers”,Eggs Benedict done properly, and didn’t even feel squeamish if a waiter deliver my fried egg a tad underdone. Which makes me laugh when I watch my 5 year old daughter at breakfast, carefully pulling apart the edd white from the firmly cooked hard-boiled yolk, and handing the yolk over to her older brother. I need to have patience with this little one. I know her story all too well!

    Thanks for the opportunity to write, RoiAnn.

    -Shawn (Peck) Shahin
    (Tiffany’s little sister)

    • RoiAnn August 21, 2014 at 5:29 pm #

      WOW! How I love hearing from you – and hearing your story. The young ones teach us as much – or more – as we teach them, I think! And eggs? are something we ALL have stories about. I always loved the yolk, myself, and was less impressed with the whites – which I tended to find bland. Bland like watermelon. Now there’s another post, right? Take care.

      ❤ RoiAnn

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