Saturday Morning Heritage

On Saturday’s we slump around, making coffee while the kitten bites our ankles. The boys watch cartoons while I sit on the couch and stare into space for a good hour. I am not a morning person. This used to stress me out because I really felt it in my soul that all children should have nice family breakfasts on Saturday and the most I could muster was instant oatmeal.

Now I just stare, sip, and ever so slowly I wake up. After I wake up, I am not burdened by guilt, and it’s not even 9 a.m. so I have the time, energy and conscience to make pancakes. Mom guilt can be debilitating and it can leave you pancake-less. It’s best to just deal with what you’ve got, and what I’ve got is a deep-seeded dislike for getting out of bed. 

The baby loves pancakes.
We put the kitten in the laundry room because our ankles can’t take anymore. I can hear the little bell on his collar jingle as he violently attacks every toy he has in there. If this Saturday is like every other Saturday he will dump over his water.

The Ghost Cat is meowing hauntingly from my bedroom. There is something comforting about expectations being met, and Ghost Cat lives up to her name. 

Ghost Cat AKA the cat that lives under my bed and is afraid of everything 
I burn one pancake every Saturday. I will feed it to my dog, to make up for the cats.
My house on Saturday morning is always always messy. I don’t know why, I always always pick up toys before bed. For some reason my house lets her hair down on Saturday’s too. She is fine with Power Ranger swords on the kitchen counter and baby bites of pancake all over the floor by the high chair. She is fine with the smokey smell of that one burnt pancake, the smell of coffee, the smell of the instant oatmeal (apple and cinnamon) from the unholy early hour of day. When I start the laundry, the smell of detergent dances around with the food and coffee smells and suddenly everything smells like home and childhood.

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