Yesterday we had blueberry pancakes for dinner. I've been feeling tired and stressed, so my darling hubby did most of the real work. I haven't been buying pancake mix because they are so easy to make from scratch, so I rattled off the recipe while Hubby combined ingredients.
Just as the first pancake hit the pan, he said, "Do we have syrup?" We had used the last of it last week...on another pancake for dinner night (we're big on brinner). He said, "Do you want to go and get some or do you want to stay here and cook?" I looked at the baby, who was munching on cheerios in his high chair, smiled, and said, "I'll go."
Suddenly the idea of five minutes to myself was intoxicating. I seriously considered cruising around town with the windows down and the music blaring. But I hate when my dinner gets cold, so I settled on getting my errand done and returning home...being responsible blows.
Luckily, Cumberland Farms doesn't sell syrup, so I had to go to the ghetto grocery store down the street. I bought a bottle of "buttery flavored syrup" (no organic anything there, let alone real maple syrup) for 99 cents and got the hell out of there. But not before seeing a sign on the exit door that read: "Have you seen our carts? If so, please let us know."
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