PANCAKE DAY!

This was the first message I received from my husband this morning. Sitting in a classroom, 400 miles away from home on his birthday, he thought of pancakes.

Years have passed since our first Pancake Day. Every Sunday morning we pull out the griddle, the Bisquick, the bowls, spoons and measuring cups. I measure, my daughter pours and everyone inhales the cozy aroma of pancakes. Occasionally we substitute cinnamon rolls or biscuits, but it is still called Pancake Day. I love this tradition.

I don't remember any traditions from my childhood. Lord bless my parents if they tried, but we were so scattered, separated, moving here and there - I truly don't believe they could. Maybe that is why it was so important to me to create new traditions for my family to enjoy. My kids won't let me forget Pancake Day. They remind me of the little things set in place at holidays and scold me if I try to change. As frustrating as it may seem at the time, I still smile, happy that they will remember these small moments, the stolen wishes of a Mom that hopes her children live happily ever after.

Even as I type, my daughter confesses new traditions in the making. She wants to write stories (like Mom), and maybe she wants to be a teacher when she grows up (like Dad). Curled up sideways in a wing chair, she scribbles the lines of her first great story, called Mystery Space (It was a foggy day in Finkletown, WA where six friends gathered at a club house.), complete with illustrations!

I am so glad that she sees how important writing is to me, and proud that she feels the same. Do you hear the clang! clang! clang!? Another link in our chain of family traditions has been forged.

Happy birthday, Terry! Happy Pancake Day! Miss you.