Pancake Tuesday, my favourite little known holiday.
I mean, who doesn't love to have an official reason for eating breakfast at dinner. It gives us licence to enjoy every syrup soaked bite of warm, fluffy goodness. It's just not possible to be anything but happy while consuming pancakes.
It was a given while growing up that there would be pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. No more likely to be missed than birthdays or Christmas. A special family tradition that seemed our own, unknown by everyone else I knew. I wish I could say that we were pious through Lent, but truthfully it was really just about the pancakes.
Over the years of working with children, I would always make pancakes with them on the eve of Lent. Little fingers cracking eggs, flour everywhere, passing the bowl so everyone had their turn to stir.
Today Jack and I whipped up a batch at play group to share. I've been referred to as the "pancake lady" by more than one child over the years.
And, of course, more for dinner tonight. I doctored them up with some hemp hearts for a nutrition boost. Anna was rather suspicious of the "weird dots" in her pancakes. Jack was deep in his happy carb place and noticed nothing. Deliciously deceiving, I call it.
But this year a tinge of sadness in the sweet for me. Eighteen years ago my dad, or "Grandpa Edward" as we call him now, left us to eat his pancakes in a better place. You are still greatly missed Dad, this post is for you.