When I was growing up, my mom always made us breakfast.
Really, I think she was making breakfast for Dad, and we benefited. She would make scrambled eggs and bacon or French toast or pancakes. Sometimes she made oatmeal with raisins in it. There were waffles. There was rarely cereal.
Around the time of junior high, my sister and I started to get self conscious. We didn't want to go to school smelling like pancakes. We had a good reason, too. Most the time, a friend or person would say that "something smells like pancakes", and we would know that it was us! After all, the hot griddle and the cooking spray made for a really bad perfume. So we asked our mom not to cook so much. Or to warn us when she did, so that we could walk around the house in her robes, trying to keep the smell off of us.
We were lucky that when we started seminary, our house was close enough to the school that we could swing back by after seminary to eat a quick breakfast and finish putting on make-up or clothes. Friends of ours started swinging by too, and suddenly my mom was feeding our cousins and our church friends breakfast.
Whenever I go home, I like when my mom cooks breakfast. She doesn't do it as often, I don't think, because she has since started working and helping out with a grandbaby, and she is a lot busier than when she used to be. But she knows that I like the pancakes with the crispy edges and my waffles to be a little crispier and that I don't put butter on anything. I miss walking down the stairs and seeing my mom standing by a griddle asking us if we want pancakes or waffles.
This morning my roommate decided to make pancakes for breakfast, and she called up asking if I wanted a couple. Of course, I said yes.
Even though, now, I smell like pancakes.