Every Sunday morning of my life has been the same throughout the course of my seventeen years of living. They began as just my mama and myself I would sleep in her and my daddy's bed every Saturday night and then we would wake up snuggle. When we started to get hungry we would make our way to the kitchen and start making pancakes! :) YUMMM. She actually makes THE BEST pancakes in the world. 
I'm not just saying that either she adds in cinnimon as her secret ingredient that she made me prosime never to tell anyone. We sang in the kitchen to her favourite Sinead O'Connor songs at the top of our lungs and into the wooden spoons we were using to stir. Down the road my sister Maddie was born and she joined our Sunday morning routine. We sang to her when she was little and then as she grew she sang with us. Sometimes when my dad wasn't working he would come in with us and make funny animals (that never quite looked like animals) with the batter for our amusment and pleasure. he never ate them though, he is more of an eggs and bacon kind of guy. Other times when we didn't make pancakes we made creps that were to die for. We
topped them off with fruit and whipped cream. As I got older I began to sleep in more and I
would miss the snuggling portion of our morning. Then I missed the singing and making of the pancakes. My youngest sister was born and she seemed to do that with mama now. It was only until recently that I realised I missed my Sunday mornings with my mama. So now I and sing with her and make them with her in the morning. <3
What a beautiful post! Thanks for sharing these seemingly simple but clearly powerful memories. :)
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