Breakfast.

One of the three best meals of the day.

And especially when one stumbled from bed into the kitchen and realized that Mom had the griddle out.

Mmmm. Pancakes.

The best of the best.

Mom's pancakes were famous.

Well in our world.

Light and fluffy and oh, so eat-able.

And when one started eating, one simply couldn't stop.

My record?

Twelve.

Dripping with butter and syrup.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

When I started dating my Husby, I couldn't wait for him to taste my Mom's pancakes.

Fortunately for him, and his status as boyfriend without sleep-over benefits, there were times when she made them later in the day.

What is even better than breakfast for breakfast?

Breakfast for supper.

My Husby-to-be agreed that Mom's pancakes were truly remarkable.

So much so that he asked her for her recipe.

Now, you have to realize that, by this time, Mom had been making these same pancakes for nearly forty-five years.

She could do them in her sleep.

An important skill first thing in the morning.

But I digress . . .

“Hmm,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “Sure I can give you the recipe.”

She then proceeded to list ingredients and amounts.

As she had been adding them for decades.

“A couple of scoops of flour. Eggs. Sugar. This much salt.” She held up finger and thumb pinched together. “A couple of cake spoons of baking powder. Milk to make it batter-y.”

My Husby-to-be was frantically scribbling, a slight frown between his brows. When he was done, he stared at what he had written. “Ummm . . . okay,” he said doubtfully.

And he went home and tried them.

Adjusted ingredients and tried again.

And again.

For over 36 years, he has been struggling to get it right.

He never has.

And Mom took the original recipe with her when she passed on.

Sigh.

I love pancakes.

I miss my Mom.

P.S. I'd give you the recipe, but it's a work in progress. I'll let you know . . .