While I am out of town, I thought I would leave you a little confession about my lack of pancake skills. The boys in this house know that I don't do pancakes. Wanna know why?
A few years ago, I went to make some pancakes for my first born son. I don't really care for them myself, so I hadn't made them in years, but I confidently pulled the box out of the cabinet and whipped up a batch.
They don't look quite right, but what the hey! On the griddle they go. Hmmn... These are not cooking.
Still not cooking.
Care-free, what the hey attitude quickly becomes what the heck? attitude. Every bit of dough gets dumped into the bin.
Perhaps I have mixed it wrong? Let's try again... I start over, thinning the batter. Onto the griddle. What the heck? Still no pancakes. Batter in trash.
Try again, thicker batter, on the griddle, still no freakin' pancakes.
Let me see... looking back, I recall passing through confusion, anger, total bewilderment, tears and nearly two hours before I threw my hands up in the air and started eye-balling that cursed box of pancake mix.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear? A box that was expired by nearly a year.
Daddy cooks all the pancakes now.