There’s something about snow and ice that makes me want to hunker down at home with a warm blanket or head to the kitchen and bake. (Admittedly the couch usually prevails.) When it’s best not to travel treacherous roads, the world comes to a standstill and we just get to relax and take a time out.
So this morning I had the urge to make breakfast. The roads were still being cleared after last night’s ice, so why not. Scrambled eggs and pancakes coming up.
But did I mention I’m not a great cook? Most of the pancakes were acceptable, but as you can see, I really scorched one. As I started to pitch it out, Drew asked me to give it to him instead. He could just cut off the burned part, he said. I put it on his plate and apologized for the grossness. “It’s okay, Mom; you don’t cook much. But you’re pretty good for someone who doesn’t cook much.”
Oh, my heart. On one hand, I don’t think I’m going to be nominated for Mother of the Year anytime soon. But on the other hand, I have the sweetest and most encouraging kids. They never – and I do mean never – complain when I screw up, forget things, or fall short. Instead, they typically shrug, help me up, let me dust myself off, and assure me that I’m doing just fine. And on the occasions I do well, they’re the first in line with a fist-bump and a “you’re awesome.”
I don’t know what I did, but somewhere along the line, I got really, really lucky.