How to make a pancake.

I'm laying in bed, sick.  Bryan runs me up a plate of food and serves it to me.  Breakfast in bed, I'm such a lucky girl. Brad had made waffles for breakfast. That's when it hit me- a trickle of sweet, simple memories from my past:

  I remember Saturday mornings my dad would mix up a batch of Bisquick and make us pancakes or waffles. He generally liked to sit at the dining room table facing the beautiful mountain view we had out the window.  The kids all gathered around the griddle, talking and watching him cook, while mom got to sleep in a little.  He would include us and teach us about how to know when the pancakes were cooked in the middle.  The bubbles would pop and if the batter filled in the hole, don't flip it, it's not ready.  When the bubbles in the batter popped and the hole remained in the pancake, it was time to flip.  You could also watch for the edges to get wrinkles.  That was another sign that it was time to flip.
  I remember with waffles - my dad would poor the batter onto the iron with perfection.  He knew the perfect amount to pour and where to pour it to get the perfect waffle. I remember watching the edges to see if any batter pooped out of the iron and teasing him about it.  We always made sure we ate the hanging edges as soon as the waffles were done, so it looked like a perfect waffle on the stack of other perfect waffles. When we ate, I liked mine plain and cold and not the one touching the plate.  My dad, on the other hand, liked syrup on his waffles. He would make sure that every dip in the waffle pattern had syrup.

I love my dad and am so grateful for the simple, special moments in my childhood. I feel so blessed for having a father that took the time to make these memories. My kids have such a fantastic grandpa!

This picture is from a couple weekends ago at the Sportsman Expo. Another fun memory with my dad!