Mean Mother

While making pancakes this morning, the black hole I call my brain forgot whether I had added my usual secret ingredients –vanilla and cinnamon -- to the mix. So for good measure, I tossed in some more.

Here’s the conversation that ensued after I cut up said pancakes and placed them in front of Little Man.

Little Man: (noticing the pancakes were a little more “golden” than usual, probably due to the doubling of vanilla and cinnamon) “WHOLE WHEAT?!!!”

Me: “They’re not whole wheat. Do you think I would DARE serve you a flour that was good for you? NO! I only serve you white foods. That are completely devoid of their nutrients. Like the good mother you’ve trained me to be.

Little Man: “You’re mean.”

Yes, Little Man.

I'm mean.

I'm so mean that it didn't even cross my mind to dump said plate of pancakes on your head.

So mean that, after you finished breakfast, I helped you study for your big science test, then got you off to school.

Good thing I take your morning ravings with a grain of salt. That would be a whole-wheat grain of salt.