For the Love of Pancakes

It's 7:37am on a rare Saturday morning that I'm awake before the kids. And this is how fast my brain works:

"I'm up! I can run downstairs and get Saturday pancakes started before the kids can 'help' and breakfast will be ready by the time they get to the kitchen. Awesome!"

And then I heard Leo's little voice in my head, "Mommy, I wish I could have helped you make the pancakes."

It would be easier to do everything myself. There would be fewer spills. I wouldn't have to referee Leo & Ruby on whose turn it was to pour or measure. And I wouldn't have to keep reminding them to keep once clean fingers out of the ingredients. But then, I remembered something I read recently:

Love extravagantly.

For as nice as it seems that I wanted to get up early to make my family pancakes, I know that it was really quite selfish. We always have pancakes on Saturday mornings. But today I didn't want or need the hassle of my children's help, even though it's something that I know they enjoy. I wanted to do things my way. Uninterrupted. Easy. Simple. Don't bother me. How's that for "loving extravagantly?"

It may seem like I've overcomplicated this transaction. It's just pancakes after all. Get 'em on the table, pass the syrup, and where's the bacon? But when I consider what love is -- kind, patient, not self-seeking -- I know that my whole motivation this morning has been the complete opposite of loving extravagantly. It's been loving very cheaply. If loving at all.

Yes, I can hear some of you, "You're being too hard on yourself. Your kids will enjoy the pancakes no matter who makes them." I can see that. But you see I've tricked you. I've used this elaborate rouse of pancakes to reel you in by your love of breakfast. Intrigued?

You see, we've been in our new home in Seattle for about 7 weeks. I am convinced that within the first 4 weeks of living here, I did it wrong. In the haze of boxes and paintbrushes and weeds and broken lawnmowers and out-of-routine kids (and self), I panicked and lived in a self-erected work zone where I had to constantly be working to make order out of the mess around me. And not just order - beauty infused order. It didn't just have to be done. It had to be beautiful. I felt chaos on the inside because I perceived chaos around me. I was grumpy. I was abrupt. People get out of my way, I have a job to do.

One day I realized I was exhausted. I didn't move across the country for this. And I allowed myself a quiet moment. I missed my people. I missed me. The me that liked stuff and didn't find fault with everything. The me that played for more than a few minutes with the kids. The me that just likes to sit next to her hubby on the couch. Who was I doing this for? Whose expectations was I trying to meet? My own? Well geez, fire that B!

I valued my product above my people and I was miserable. It's not the beauty of the house that makes a home, it's the love of the people inside. And while I love my process and doing things my way, I don't like the person I become when that is my priority.

So here I am, Unpacking Life with another blog. Experiencing the newness of my home and hometown. And about to make pancakes with my littles. Because I know it's what they love. Pass the syrup.