...a vest has no sleeves.

-| A Doghouse Full of Pancakes|-
[and ice cream has no bones]

the world may never know...

This morning I came home to find Tim sitting in my living room with my daughter, having sent the babysitter home. As I get in the door, they both bound off the couch exclaiming, "PANCAKES!!!"

... Now, I just got in, and granted; its practically a tradition to have either cinnamon rolls or pancakes on a Sunday morning, whether it be after waking up or after getting home from work.

I am amused at this unbridled display of enthusiasm, and make my way into the kitchen to get the bacon started and get out the ingredients and supplies required to make pancakes a reality.

"Well, I had planned on showering first, but I can shower after I eat it really doesn't matter at this point," I say to myself.

After the bacon is ready and put in the oven to keep warm, Tim says, "Hey, tell ya what," as he puts his hand on my daughter's shoulder, "We'll make the pancakes so you can shower." I look at him with mild concern for the outcome of my kitchen.

"I've got it covered," he says. With this, I decide to go shower anyway.

I come back to find that Tim has managed to mix enough pancake batter to feed an entire mess-hall of hungry Marines. He must have made 35-40 pancakes to feed himself, me and my six year old child. I also notice a spot on the floor that is reflecting more light than the rest of the floor. I stand there watching and don't say anything.

Tim looks at me, spatula in hand, grins and says,"WHAT?"

"Nothing, that is just a LOT of pancakes." I say this, staring at the shiney spot on the floor, contemplating what happened. My child giggles and says, "We LIKE pancakes, daddy."

We eat breakfast, and I get the dishes washed. I notice in the trash a huge wad of paper towels with pancake batter all over them.

I can only imagine. I didn't have to ask at this point, but I hope that one of them gets a conscience in time and tells me how that spot on the floor got so shiney.