This morning I got up and made pancakes, from scratch (I know, not a difficult recipe).
Child #4: Just bit off little pieces and spit them out.
Child #3: Ate a few bites of toasted waffle from the night before. (This is actually a huge feat for her, even with the generous helping of powdered sugar for dipping, because she still won't eat bread.)
Child #2: Didn't want pancakes. Ate a gogurt instead.
Child #1: Ate a pancake, went upstairs, had a coughing fit and tossed his pancake all over the bed.
And at the time I felt like such a good mother for making pancakes for breakfast. Now a stack of them sits on the counter, getting more rubbery by the minute. I think I'll throw them to the squirrels and crows.
I sometimes read a blog called The Flourishing Mother. Sometimes it makes me feel peaceful, she is a very spiritual woman. But on days like this, when trying doesn't even do any good, I feel completely inadequate. That can be the downside of blogs for me, comparing myself to all these wonderful people who are out there, instead of being content in my own skin with the talents that God gave me. I remembered a post from this Flourishing Mother about pancakes. She actually has several of them, recipes and some with photos. If you scroll down you'll see the one that came to mind -- her children are reading at the table, quietly waiting for pumpkin pancakes.
Yup, I'm going to toss mine out the window.