Pancakes

Sunday mornings are always interesting at my house. Mark is usually up early and out running with his cronies no matter how late we stayed up the night before and Drew seems to creep into bed as the sun rises, cuddling next to me and demanding breakfast and cartoons. I know that one day soon Drew's not going to want to get so close to me that he could actually be a part of my skin so until that day happens, I'm enjoying this time together just as much as I enjoy the Sunday routine. Believe it or not, Sunday's are a peaceful day around here and I relish the whole thing. But, like anything else involving the Hill family, I have come to expect the unexpected and today is one of those days when morning didn't go exactly as planned.

When Mark woke up this morning, it was pouring down rain--not ideal conditions for running thirteen miles next to a major road. Nevertheless, he woke up, got dressed and headed down to the school to see if anyone else would show up. No one did so the run was off, or so I found out by phone call from the gas station. I almost asked him to run in to McDonald's and pick up some breakfast but Mark had an idea of his own.

"I think I'd like to make pancakes," he said.

I thought it was a great idea. So Mark swung over to the grocery store to pick up the necessary items. Later, he told me that he had to ask someone where to find the baking powder but the shopping trip was a success and then it was home to make pancakes.

I have to say that Mark takes care of more than his fair share of housework around here. He's an ace at the laundry and has taken on the role of clothes washer. He's also great at vacuuming and picking up. But cooking is not his forte. I do all of the cooking in the house so the fact that he even wanted to make pancakes was exciting in itself.

Drew and I headed downstairs when Mark got home and I sat in the kitchen cutting out coupons as he worked on making "supreme" pancakes. I would say that a good word to describe Mark would be precise and that trait more than came out in his pancake cooking. Mark measured and double measured everything. He picked out the perfect utensils and the perfect pan, used just the right amount of butter and set the burner at the perfect temperature. And soon, fluffy--and well analyzed--pancakes started to come off the stove.

Drew and I sat at the table and ate away. There were a lot of "mmmmm's" coming from Drew and I seconded his happiness. They were light and airy pancakes with just the right amount of sweetness. Mark's cooking was a success.

Somewhere in the middle of the cooking, Drew walked into the kitchen and Mark scooped him up with a hug. "I'm glad you liked my pancakes. You'll never know how much this means to me until one day when you're a dad."

And then it hit me. Every time Mark eats pancakes, he always talks about how his dad used to make pancakes. I think that the memory of his father standing over the stove making pancakes first thing in the morning is one of Mark's favorite. It's something tangible that he can hold on to--something he can still almost taste. That's why he was working so hard to make his own pancakes perfect.

Mark's father lost his battle to liver/lung cancer almost seven years ago and he is still missed. I think it's even a little harder for Mark during this time of the year since the anniversary of his death is just around the corner. That, added to the fact that we just celebrated Drew's birthday (the only grandchild Reynolds never met and the only one to carry his name) makes it a time when Mark lives with his memories and tries to find ways to honor his father.

So this morning we had pancakes, but it was so much more than that. Today we celebrated a tribute to one of the greatest men that I've ever met. We also continued a tradition of fathers, sons and pancakes--one that I hope my own son will pass down to his own children.

Sometimes things as simple as pancakes are so much more involved.