We've had a kid swap this week. French Me kindly has taken the resident grumpy guts, aka Bubba-Love, for two nights and in exchange, we've got her oldest. And I have to admit, it's kinda nice having three kids over the age of 7 to deal with. There's just something about cranky 5 year olds that make me break out in hives and dream of drinking large bottles of Jagermeister.
The Man left for work early this morning with Rosie in tow, which meant that I was free to actually make the big kids some pancakes for breakfast. French Me's daughter watched in wonder as I flipped the pancakes over and asked me to clarify just what the difference between pancakes and crêpes is. I mumbled some stupid reply about the fluffiness of pancakes and how they only get folded over hot dogs in diners, but she seemed to glaze over so I quickly changed the subject.
As they sat down to eat, I watched as all three of them first went for the syrup, then for spoonfuls of sugar shaken like they were all in detox, and then finally some rather large glops of Nutella smeared all over those poor pancakes. I'm expecting the sugar rush to end sometime this evening.
At one point, French Me's daughter looked up from her very sticky plate and said,
"You know? Being here and eating pancakes reminds me of the time we went to Disney Land Paris and we had pancakes and coffee with Goofy."
Yes. Yes. I know. If the shoe fits....