One year, on Mother’s Day, you were babysitting me and my sister. I don’t remember where Mom and Dad were, mostly because I was way too excited to have you there, which meant we could probably convince you to have ice cream for dinner. And because it’s been 20 years.
What I do remember is the pancakes we made. They were awful. They were basically hockey pucks that failed quality control testing as hockey pucks. No matter what we did, more milk, less flour, all of the vanilla in the house, we could not make them edible.
That afternoon, we took a walk to the park, and brought the pancakes with us, thinking the birds might like a snack. We watched as a Canada Goose attacked a pancake with vigor, only to spit it right back out. The pancakes were so bad, even the birds rejected them. Turns out Mom had left out parts of the recipe before she left, and even the birds knew they weren’t right.
Thank you, Gran, for all that you do. Especially for letting us eat ice cream for dinner, even if the compromise was eating it between two mini Eggo waffles. We loved it, and we love you.
Happy 85th Birthday!