Waffles

We made waffles this last weekend.

Or rather the daddy of the house orchestrated breakfast while I slept in and then I got up and made the syrup and helped set the table. It's how weekends roll around here.

We ate and were cleaning up when I heard "Oh shoot! I forgot the last one!"

I don't know how waffles go at your house, but that's usually how it is here. The last one always looks something like this.



And that brought to mind one of my parenting theories. Raising kids is a lot like making waffles.

The first one is always the experiment. Sometimes it's great, other times the waffle iron is too hot, or not hot enough, or the waffle sticks to it because it's not properly seasoned yet.

The second one is better. And by the third one you are really getting in a groove.

But then things start to slow down. You start running out of batter and people are getting full and the waffle making energy is waning.

So by the time the last one rolls around, the groove is lost. People are starting to think of the rest of the day and beginning to clean up and leave the table.

And that poor little waffle. Many times it is forgotten. It is forgotten until it is over-done. Or sometimes it is forgotten in the waffle iron when it is put away and not discovered until the next waffle meal.

I am that first waffle. And I dare say that I turned out alright. Others might argue with that, but they can go take a flying leap.

All the middle kids I know, well, they are run-of-the-mill middle children. Nothing wrong with them and they do a good job getting the job done.

Those youngest children, well, I think they are a challenge. There's something about them that I don't think anyone can deny. They have to fight for the attention so they won't be forgotten left in the waffle iron. And they do it well. They make us laugh and cry and rage. It's what they do best.

At any rate, enjoy your waffles. Including that last one, even if it's only real use is as a door stop.