Actually, I wish I could blame this morning on a lack of caffeine, but I’d already downed a pot during my morning prayer and study time, so there’s no excuse.

Saturday is our big-breakfast day, so this morning, being of relatively sound mind and proper caffeination, I was in the kitchen. I had the sausage going on the stove and K-Love playing on Alexa. While I danced to the beat of the praise songs, I split and buttered two of the three leftover biscuits for the toaster oven and set the temp and timer.

A quick jig to the fridge for the eggs, which I intended both to fry for breakfast and to boil for the chicken salad for supper, and a twist to the cabinet for my egg pot. Five eggs covered in water for boiling.

Check the sausage.

Pull MSB’s biscuit out–it’s heated, but he doesn’t like them toasted–and leave mine in longer.

Check the sausage again, and decide to make tea for lunch.

I learned my method of tea-making from my aunt Hazel. She puts several bags in a 2-cup measuring cup full of water and zaps it, then pours it into a container of sweetened water. So, glass measuring cup full of teabags and water goes in the microwave.

The man comes in. He’s on one side of me, checking out what’s on the stove, and two of my felines are trying to curl around my no-longer-dancing feet. Shoo away the husband, feed the cats, flip the sausage over.

The timer dings on my biscuit. Still in praise mode, I jig my way to it. It’s burnt to a crisp. No worries, though. I have another one, which I prepare as the chime on the microwave signals the tea is ready. Slip my new biscuit in, set the timer, and do some jazz moves toward the stove, which also is chiming to let me know the eggs are boiled.

The sausage is getting too dark, so I pull them off the heat, and the eggs need to be drained so they won’t overcook. I drain and rinse them in cool water, then get ice for the quick cool. The pot is now full of ice and eggs–and the handle breaks. I’m holding it while staring at a floor covered with ice and eggs–one of which is broken enough to let me know they’re soft-boiled at best.

And the microwave dinger blasts away as if I didn’t have enough on my mind.

I poke a button to make it shut up, grab my broom, dustpan, and a towel to clean up the mess on the floor, and wonder what the noise is I’m hearing.

Just when I notice I’d hit the wrong button on the microwave–and am now cooking the teabags for seven minutes–the toaster oven dings again. I turn off the microwave, saving it from scorching my tea, and check on my biscuit, which is scorched almost as badly as the first one.

MercyMe is crooning “Best News Ever” over Alexa while I’m salvaging eggs and throwing my best pot away. And I’m still wanting to dance and sing along to the music.

Surprisingly, most of the eggs were saved by their shell–though cracked, their innards weren’t exposed–and the tea didn’t boil over in the microwave and the biscuit was salvageable. The sausage was good, and our fried eggs turned out perfectly, so breakfast wasn’t a complete bust.

But I got to wondering what that all meant. Was God trying to tell me not to share my praise time with morning chores? Or was he telling me to pay attention to what I was doing? Considering the only times I get to listen to music are when I’m in the kitchen and when I’m driving, he’s pretty accustomed to having me praise while I do other things.

What I do know is that starting the day with him kept me from getting cranky after all the silliness that went on in my kitchen. And that’s mostly what it was. Silliness. Me having my attention divided in too many directions. Breakfast wasn’t a disaster. The tea at lunch was great. The chicken salad was wonderful (if I do say so myself). So as frustrating as having to clean the floor because of a busted pan was, it wasn’t a mood-setter for the day. I like that.

Eventually, as I think this day through again, I might come up with something more profound, but for now, all I can say is that I like dancing to praise music in my kitchen.