So I have a really good friend who is Martha Stewart incarnate. Seriously. Ever watch Desperate Housewives? The character of Bree? (Or is it spelled Brie?) Anyway…that’s my friend. On any given day you could show up to her gorgeous home with perfectly manicured lawn and garden (which she does herself, or course), and she would greet you, probably wearing pearls, and welcome you into her spotless home and no doubt have a gourmet meal ready to whip together in mere minutes. Did I mention she has five children? I wish I were exaggerating.
And if you remember me, I am the opposite. Perhaps that’s why we’re such good friends. Several of her older children are friends with my children. (Another reason we are probably such good friends.) And we are about the only families we would allow our children to have sleepovers with. Which is where the pancakes come in. (You were beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get there, weren’t you?)
So, several months ago her children had spent the night and I decided to make my middle daughter’s favorite for breakfast: pancakes. (Unlike Kari, they seemed excited at the prospect.) Except for one thing.
“Where are the blueberries?” They asked when I, proud of my creation, set their plates in front of them.
“Blueberries?” I asked.
“Our Mommy always puts blueberries in our pancakes.”
Sigh. Of course she does. So…they politely ate their boring “regular” pancakes, and I chuckled, realizing that even making homemade pancakes I can’t even begin to compete with this friend. (Not that I want to, but you know, it’d be nice every now and then to feel like I’m even on the same playing field.)
So…fast forward to a few weeks ago when they were back over for a sleepover. By sheer coincidence I happened to have a case of fresh blueberries and all the ingredients to make pancakes. I couldn’t believe my luck! So, that morning when the children came down for breakfast I had prepared the fresh blueberry pancakes, eggs and bacon and they happily ate, this time not having to ask where the blueberries were. Actually, they didn’t even seem to notice a difference this time. I stood there, sipping my coffee with an incredible feeling of satisfaction. And THAT, my friends, is why the above pancakes are no ordinary pancakes. Oh no. They are a sweet picture of VICTORY-even if it is just until they have to step over the baby toys on their way out the door back home.