Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
“Good morning, Daddy.” She rushes out into the hall to greet me. “I swept in.” She looks so proud of herself; I don’t have the heart to tell her six am on Saturday morning isn’t “sleeping in.”
“You did, angel baby.” I lift her against my chest and hot-foot it down to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee to help me deal with my daughter who’s already bouncing on her feet, arms flailing like she’s revved up on four espressos.
“Daddy! Can we have chocolate unicorn pancakes?” she chirps, her wide eyes glued to me.
“Dad’s special chocolate unicorn pancakes it is, angel baby!” I reply, trying to match her enthusiasm while I pour her a glass of orange juice. I can’t help but smile at my wife’s adorable mini-me. Her wild mane of curly blonde hair seems to have a personality all its own, bouncing around as much as she does. Four years old and already going on sixteen.
As I start mixing the batter, Ainsley is already zooming around the kitchen like a whirlwind, pulling out every toy she can find to create her own little world of chaos. The kitchen looks like a tornado hit it in no time, but with her around, it’s hard to care.
“Look! I’m making a cake for you,” she announces, proudly holding up a plastic toy cake. “And you can have a horsey, too!” She gallops around the kitchen, her sonic booms set to maximum.
I chuckle to myself and sneak a peek out the window just as Winston ambles up to the backdoor. After Remi and I married, we created an opening between the two fences so her little furball protector could come over any time he wants, which happens to be anytime my youngest is awake.
Ainsley doesn’t allow her loyal sidekick any peace, and he loves it that way. When she notices him at the glass door, she runs over to open it to let him in.
“Winston!” she squeals, shaking her toy horse at him. “Come play! We need to have a party!”
Winston, bless his heart, looks at her like she just asked him to run a marathon. Still, he wags his tail, feigning interest, only to succumb to the brutal reality of Ainsley’s energy. Before I know it, she’s dragging him inside with her, and all I can do is laugh at the sight.
“Okay, Ainsley, let’s save Winston by making some pancakes, shall we?” I say, pulling the batter together and rescuing my kitchen from total disaster.
“Yay!” she shouts, and I can practically feel the jolt of happiness radiating from her.
We whip up a storm of pancake batter together, Ainsley pouring in more chocolate chips than necessary, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “More chocolate makes unicorn pancakes better, Daddy!” Oh, great. Just what she needs, more sugar.
“True enough,” I admit, knowing that a little extra indulgence allows me to temper the guilt of the impending sugar rush heading straight for Jasper and Remi’s ears. Once the pancakes hit the skillet, the smell wafts through the air, and I watch as Ainsley hops from one foot to the other, unable to contain herself.
“Chocolate unicorn pancakes are my favorite!” she sings out, her voice filling the space with pure delight.
A few minutes later, the table is set, and the first batch of pancakes is sizzling away, finally ready to serve. I plate them up, pouring just the right amount of syrup over Ainsley’s stack.
Once she’s settled into her chair, it feels like a small victory watching her eat without it turning into an Olympic sport. But just as I sit down with my own plate, Jasper lumbers into the kitchen, hair tousled and sleep still pulling at the corners of his eyes.
“Morning, champ! Want pancakes?” I ask, pushing a plate toward him.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing the last bit of sleep from his face. “Did you let Ainsley make the pancakes?”
“She helped,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.
“Dad, that’s a dangerous game,” he says, plopping down at the table.
“I love to live dangerously,” I reply, grinning at my son.
While the kids eat, I glance at the clock, suddenly acutely aware that Remi will be waking up soon.
Jasper’s already devoured his stack of pancakes, and Ainsley is working on hers with the enthusiasm of a kid who has just discovered chocolate for the first time.
Little bites are accompanied by serious declarations like, “This is the best breakfast ever!” So, for now, the chaos is peaceful, punctuated by happy chatter and the occasional ruckus from Winston, who we both know is just biding his time until he can steal a piece of bacon from Ainsley.
Just as I’m about to dig into my own stack, the soft sound of footsteps pulls my attention away from the syrup disaster in progress. I glance up and nearly drop my fork at the sight of Remi strolling into the kitchen, hair cascading down in carefree waves like she just stepped out of an ad for sunshine and happiness. Seriously, how does she manage to look that beautiful while still half-asleep?