Utter Failure

Jeff's the pancake guy in this house. He makes them from scratch and they're just delicious. French toast, too---he makes a mean plate of french toast. I can do waffles. Apparently I cannot do pancakes. Addi and I wanted pancakes for breakfast. Jeff wanted to sleep some more. No problem, I figured I could handle following his recipe and making them thangs. I measured the oil and milk, cracked the eggs, got the shells out of the bowl, measured the flour, baking powder, and salt, and went to mixing. I know my comma usage was excessive in that last sentence, but you catch what I'm trying to say. I followed the recipe and I was confident. Addi was not confident. She hovered, watching me work and then said "I'm going to go get daddy. You need help." Little stinker. I was doing fine. Jeff stayed in bed, I kept cooking. I poured the first batch onto the griddle. Addi's little voice said, "Be careful. You gotta watch them with your eyes." Yeah, thanks. They looked just fine. When I poured the second batch, two of them ran together JUST SLIGHTLY. "Daddy doesn't let his touch. They're not suppose to do that." I cooked them all and called Jeff to the table. Jackson got a cut up pancake with strawberries (his fave), and he spit out his first bite. Some others ended up on the floor. Jeff only ate four instead of his usual six or eight. Addi took a few bites. I ate mine and they weren't as soft as Jeff's so I told him that maybe he should have come and helped after all. Here's the conversation that followed:

Addi: "No mom. You did good. You're good at making pancakes. These are good."

Me: "Why aren't you eating yours then?"

Addi: "What?" (holding a nibbled on pancake)

Me: "You wanted pancakes. Why aren't you eating yours?"

Addi: "Well I only like Daddy's pancakes. This is not good." She threw it in the trash.

I suppose I'll stick with waffles and just leave the complicated task of making pancakes to the man of the house. Sigh.