Let me start this post by making something clear: West Virginians love their biscuits. In fact, we're home of Tudor's Biscuit World. When we can't get our biscuit fix, we get mean.
In this house, we make sure to have a weekly biscuit infusion, fueled by an early morning run by Chris while the rest of us lay around impatiently waiting for him to return.
Today was no different. Izzy, Sophie, and I were piled up in bed, Chris took our order and off he went. After a few minutes, Izzy asked, "Mommy, today is what?"
"Sunday," I tell him.
"Sunday is biscuit day, right?"
Yep, Sunday is our biscuit day.
After too long of a wait, Chris yells that breakfast is on the table so we all head in and get to eating. I relay the above conversation to Chris and we're laughing that there's already an official biscuit day in our family.
Chris says to Izzy, "Izzy, what would you do if we moved somewhere and they didn't have biscuits??" He says this jokingly, but I detect a note of pain in his voice. He spent a very difficult three-month transfer in New York where there were, indeed, NO BISCUITS. It's hard for me to imagine the horror the poor guy suffered.
Izzy thinks for a second and he says, "Well, then I guess we'd just go to Cracker Barrel and eat scones."
Broke his father's heart, he did.