Last night the kids wanted pancakes for dinner. They actually wanted pancakes for breakfast and I made them eat cranberry muffins instead. Poor Camille was so distraught she asked for them for lunch and afternoon snack before I finally agreed to make them for our evening meal.
So I'm making these pancakes - and for the record, I don't really like making pancakes. I'd rather mix up a bowl of some kind of something else batter, throw it in a pan, shove it in the oven and come back when it's done. Pancakes are so time consuming - just like cookies. You have to stand there and wait for them to be done enough to flip and then wait until they're done enough to remove, but you have to pay enough attention to them so they end up the right color. While I'm trying to make them, I have lots of "help" including two girls in itty bitty aprons climbing on chairs to reach the counter to help mix, getting right in my way in the process. While I'm trying to cook them, I have to fight off the same little helpers that want to stand on a chair at the stove, fight off the helper who wants to eat before the pancakes are ready, fight off the kids who want me to do something else at the same time, and welcome Rob home from a hard day of work. During all of this, I somehow forget to turn the burner down and the first two batches of pancakes come out pretty dark. Some would say burnt. That is where our story really begins.
When it's finally time to eat, I proudly carry this plate of pancakes to the table. It's a huge stack of pancakes with the toasty ones hidden safely underneath. My family digs in and has the pancakes gone in no time. Except for the ones at the bottom.
Rob picks up a pancake and says, "Nice burnt pancake."
Camille pipes up and answers for me: "It's not burnt. It's just black. Pancakes come in all kinds of colors. Some are white, some are brown and some are black. They're all good. Can you pass me a black pancake please?"
Then she proceeds to slather her pancake with butter and gobble it down. "Mommy, these black pancakes are the best!"
There you have it. For the record, I did not burn the pancakes. They were simply black because that is the way some pancakes are supposed to be.
And that is another reason why I love Camille.