This is Why I Make the Pancakes

I am not athletic. Or coordinated. I never have been. In fact, when I was 10 years old, my two-year old little brother could whoop my butt at Super Mario. That's how bad my hand-eye coordination is.

While many of my high-school friends were twirling and tossing banners in Winterguard, teaching the cast of the musical how to tap dance, or playing marimba in state-level band competitions I was reading Shakespeare, doing research papers, and performing in non-musical plays.

(Notice how these are activities that have minimal risk of tripping.)

In the grand scheme of things, I'm perfectly happy so long as I'm coordinated enough to pick up a book, turn a page and type a sentence. I might not be able to kick a soccer ball [without falling] but I can speak in Elizabethan dialect. And for me, that's far more fun that scoring a goal (yup, I'm weird).

On that note: When Dan and I started here it was sort of an accepted fact that I was going to be the cook. After all, I've always been the one to cook during our marriage and I've whipped up some pretty mean recipes, so it only makes sense, right?

It did, until I found out that this is how we make omelets:



If I had done that, the omelet would have landed about two-and-a-half feet to the left of the pan instead of inside it.

That's why he's the egg guy and I'm the pancake girl. We're a great team.

With Love,
~Brande N.