Dinner around our house is not a formal affair. Ed is rarely home for it, and Ginger obviously doesn't eat real food, so it's just me and Hazel most of the time. Which means we do whatever we want. Tonight it was pancakes.
In my family, my Dad's pancakes are famous and the best. We had them Saturday mornings if we got up early enough, and now at visits and reunions it just takes a little flattery and begging to get a stack. I spent many years of my adult life frustrated trying to make mine like his, and in the last year or so I've made major improvements. At least I can stand to eat my own creations now. Of course butter and syrup sweeten the deal.
So tonight I dished us up and asked Hazel to fold her arms for prayer. I said a short and sweet blessing, and we tucked in. Hazel scarfed hers down and asked for more, so I served her another, cut it up, poured on some syrup, put it on her highchair tray and immediately returned to my own thoughts. For a minute I didn't notice that she was sitting there looking at me, not eating. Then I asked her what was wrong and she folded her arms and said, "Pray, pray!" I asked her who should say it, me or her. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and pointed at me emphatically. So I asked another blessing on the new pancake. This repeated for the third. I've decided to read into this very deeply and infer that my pancakes are now SO GOOD that it's worth praying over each one. And I intend to remember this as my children grow up and remind them constantly how much they love my pancakes.
4 comments:
Of course, my kids often pray (in vain repetition, and to my annoyance of the message it sends) that the meal we are about to eat be made nourishing. Maybe that would apply to the plea over pancakes...?
Very cute! I love how cute kids can be!
Yes, but have you taught her to call them "pankies"?
Actually, Maren, I'm waiting on that and I'll tell you why. Currently her /k/ sounds come out like /t/ so I prefer "pantates" to "panties."
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