So I'm making pancakes yesterday, a new kind, some all natural, Double Chocolate Chocolate or something...
As I'm pouring the first one onto the pan, I hear my almost 7 year old dancing around the living room and singing, "Ohhhh, chocolate pancakes, I'm having chocolate chocolate pancakes pancakes, I love pancakes, oh yeahhhh..." and wraps it up with a sincere and very enthusiastic, "Pancakes ROCK!!!"
I smile to myself, happy that I can make the kid this jubilant about something, ANYTHING ... because Mommy is usually the adversary because, well, just because it's *Mommy* ... and Daddy's usually the ALLY. :: insert eye roll here ::
It's in that unfortunate moment that I realize the consistancy isn't right, but I figure that has to do with the fact that it's all natural or something. I flip it and notice that the "skin" is REALLY tough, like tougher than it's supposed to get.
Long story short, I realize that I completely fucked up the mixture, having mixed in the wrong amount of eggs and milk ... and of course, I have no more Double Chocolate Chocolate pancake mix.
So I do what any normal mom and wife would do ... I call my husband over to come taste it. And he, playing X-box, pretends not to hear me and doesn't come. :: sigh ::
I taste a little piece of it and frankly, it tastes like shit. Now comes the hard part - I have to inform my previously jubilant child that there will be no Double Chocolate Chocolate pancakes for lunch today.
I call her over and show her the mix and explain that I didn't do the math correctly and added the wrong amount of eggs and milk ... and the pancakes are un-eatable.
She took it really well, so I said jokingly, "Well, I can't do *everything* right, ya know!"
And my daughter, not yet 7, standing on a stool beside me, puts her arms around me, rests her head on my chest, looks up and me and says, "You do this right."
I can't help but cry ... tears stream down my face as I hug her back and tell her that that is the sweetest thing she's ever said to me. I thank her and tell her I love her. When she's had enough mush, she smiles and goes inside to where her dad is sitting.
As I wipe my tears and start washing the pan, I hear him laughing hysterically. This child, upon hearing the sniffles, said to her dad, "Oh, great ... Now she's washing the pan with her tears."
:: sigh ::
Gotta love this age!