"DADAAAAAA. MAAAMMMAAAA." This is usually how your mornings start. Your four year old comes toddling into your bedroom at 9am screaming like a banshee. He jumps onto your bed and wiggles his way between you and your still sleeping husband. This was Phil's superpower, he could sleep through anything. "Dada?" Thomas asks poking his dad's face with a little sausage finger. "Wake up Dada I want pancakes" he whispers loudly, dimpled smile spreading across his chubby little cheeks. "Uuunngggggghhhhhh" Phil moaned, resisting consciousness "Five more minutes buddy" you say smoothing his hair from the sleep spikes it'd worked itself into. He nods enthusiastically and hops off the bed and through the door. "Morning sleeping beauty " you chide into Phil's ear, trying to rouse him from his comatose state. "Nnhhhgg. Morning chickie..." he mumbles half into his pillow. He lets out a long sigh and rolls over. "I love that kid but he is gonna be the death of me."
After the long process of dragging yourselves out of bed and pulling your slippers and dressing gowns on, you both slugged into the kitchen to see Thomas pulling at a pan. "Just like his mum," Phil said running his fingers through his hair, spiking it back up. "Dada, what kind of pancakes are we gonna make? We make mama cinnamonamon and I want buberries and you like chocolate and-" Thomas blabbed on "okay yeah buddy gimme a minute okay? You know I'm useless before my cuppa," Phil cut off, smiling warmly at his little boy. "Dada's useless" he giggled. "That he is," you say, lifting Thomas onto your hip. After you and Phil had your cups of tea, the goofy aprons came out and the mess began. It went smoothly at first but then Thomas decided to sneak up behind Phil. "BOOOO" Tom yelled grabbing Phil's legs. Even though Tom looked about as scary as a bunny in a tutu, Phil yelped, tossing up the flour bowl and covering the entire kitchen, himself, you and a now delighted Thomas in self raising flour. For a moment there was complete silence , suddenly broken by loud, gleeful laughter from all three of you. "Look Daddy made it snow!" Thomas exclaimed. The next twenty minutes where spent gasping for air, tears running down your faces and tummies cramping in the best way . Eventually the three of you collapsed on the floor in a giggling mess. "How about we use ready mix instead?" Phil wheezed still wiping tears from his face. "Good idea," you replied trying to brush the flour out of Tom's hair. After a long clean up and some slightly less messy ready mix pancakes, the three of you sat down to watch Saturday morning cartoons and plan the rest of your day out.
