I’m guest blogging over on Kindred Mom for a month focused on Cherishing Childhood. This month, this community of brave and honest mama writers offers inspiration to find joy in these little years.
During the week, the only hot breakfast my family gets is the kind that comes from the microwave. I’m not talking the fancy kind; I’m talking the 1-minute oatmeal kind. If I’m feeling swanky, I might toss a few raisins in there. With a full-time office job that begins at 7 a.m., I’ve declared it impossible to make a hot breakfast and retain any semblance of sanity. I don’t suffer any guilt over the decision, but I have come to correlate hot breakfast with leisure.
And so, a few years ago, I unintentionally launched Waffle Saturday. I assembled an entirely new plan of breakfasts aimed at encouraging my then picky two-year-old to abandon her yogurt rut, and on that list was healthy Pumpkin waffles.
They were delicious.
The next Saturday, I tackled Oatmeal Banana Waffles.
The day I went into labor with my son, I had just completed a lovely and elaborate Nutella and strawberry concoction to top the aforementioned Oatmeal Banana Waffles.
Over the past few years, Waffle Saturday has become gradually less elaborate and exponentially messier, as I am now joined in the kitchen by a three-year-old, who is eager to pour, stir, and taste, and a one-year-old toddling around at our feet.
For me, this capital-W Waffle Saturday means a whole lot more than just making and eating waffles. Instead, this ritual encompasses all the sweetness family life has to offer.
