My Mom Still Makes Pancakes Every Sunday #familytime #MomLife

Every Sunday for the past twenty years, my mom has made pancakes. Not because anyone asked her to, not because she had to, but simply because Sunday means pancakes. When I was seven, I told her once that Sunday was the yummiest day of the week. She smiled, and that was it — a tradition was born. Now I’m thirty-nine, with a son of my own. My mom has silver in her hair and a gentle stoop in her back, but she still makes pancakes every Sunday. I bring my boy over. He sits at the same kitchen table I used to sit at. She puts a plate in front of him and says, “Careful, they’re hot.” He takes a bite and says, “They’re so good,” with his mouth full. And in that moment, between the smell of warm batter and the soft hum of morning, I realize something — the most important things in life aren’t loud or dramatic. They’re the quiet moments that repeat themselves, over and over, filled with love. Every Sunday.
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