I promised EldestGirl pancakes for breakfast this morning. They’re something of a family speciality, and if you hide grated pear in them, I like to fool myself they’re not a totally unhealthy breakfast choice. (Though by the time I’ve drowned mine in maple syrup – “No, sorry, EldestGirl, this is just for grown-ups, it’s alcohol” – they probably aren’t going to win any nutritional awards.)
I am always requested to make a Paw Patrol pancake. This first happened as I was trying to make Mickey Mouse ears and basically failed. The resultin
g three-eared Mickey Mouse was swiftly rebranded to be a Paw Patrol symbol and has been requested ever since. Usually one, if not all toes fall off before serving. I’m nothing if not half-hearted.
In my head, the dialogue would go something like this:
EldestGirl: Mummy, these pancakes are amazing. Thank you for making me a special Paw Patrol pancake. What a great idea to add some yoghurt for the extra protein. I love you.
TheBloke (TM): Yes, these are great, thank you. It’s so nice to have breakfast as a family.
YoungestGirl: (admittedly she’s only 10 months old) Mum-mum-mum-mum
This is what actually happened.
EldestGirl: Why has the toe fallen off my pancake, it looks stupid. What’s this black bit? I don’t want to eat the black bit. YoungestGirl doesn’t have a black bit in hers. It’s not fair. I don’t like yoghurt.
TheBloke (TM): I don’t really like pancakes anyway.
YoungestGirl: Cat! Cat! Cat! Bye-bye. (Her only words so far.)
I look at other people’s Instagram classics of beautiful family breakfasts. Here’s mine. Please notice that we somehow seem to have a red plastic ball in our fruit bowl. We are nothing if not classy.
