Happy Birthday, Charlene. Decided to make ya a gift ta go wif dat
Standard disclaimers apply.
"Don't wanna flip da pancakes," Jimmy Grayson complained as his
sister opened the refrigerator door.
"Flip `em, or I'll beat you to within an inch of your life," she
ordered, pulling out orange juice. "I can't pour AND flip."
"I wanna pour," Jimmy said, waving the plastic pancake turner
"You're not allowed," Mara pointed out snidely. "Remember the grape
juice on the dining room carpet?" She got out a glass and poured it
carefully, then placed it on the tray. "FLIP!" she whispered
harshly. "Flip `em, or I'm going flip YOU."
Making a face Jimmy climbed back onto the kitchen chair at the
stove. "You're da worst thister in da world," he declared, shoving
the pancake turner under the perfectly round pancakes, and then
flipped. As he turned them, the broke up and crumbled.
"Crap a dog. You're like stupid or incompetent or something," Mara
said, ripping the skillet and turner out of his hand.
"I'm telling daddy you said I was incontipant," the boy said,
hopping off the chair.
"Don't you DARE," Mara whispered harshly. "I'll kill you in your
sleep. This is for dad, you twit. Go fold napkins."
She tried to salvage the pancakes, but they weren't really that
great. She scraped them onto a plate and threw the frozen sausages
on the same griddle. They sizzled and hissed and smoked, but
eventually got blistering hot on the outside. She tossed them onto
the plate, and then cracked some eggs. "Cooking's easy," the girl
announced. "Alfie makes a big deal over nuthin."
"Weren't ya thuppozed to butter it up again? So'z they don't stick?"
Jimmy asked, folding a napkin into an origami swan.
Mara looked down at the frying pan for a second, and then her eyes
darted around the room.
"You suck," she was informed.
She started scraping at the eggs, which clung to the dirty
surface. "They're fine. Dad likes `em well-done anyways." A few
moments later, she was pushing the eggs onto the plate. The thin
brown chunks flopped onto the pancake crumbs and sausages. They
pushed the toast to the edge of the plate and almost off.
"I gets to carry it up!" Jimmy announced, snatching the wooden tray
before his sister could stop him. He bounded up the steps, pieces of
toast falling after him.
"Stupid head." Mara grumbled under her breath. She picked up the
face-down toast and shot up the stairs after him. She skidded on the
hall carpet and then put the toast back on the plate. "You're
dropping stuff." She looked at the tray. There was orange juice
spills all over. "This is sooo why you shouldn't have carried it."
Taking the edge of her night shirt, she dried up the mess, then
opened the bedroom door.
"SURRRRPRISE!" The two children shouted in unison. Mom's was the
first to lift off the pillows, but her eyes didn't open. Dad just
sort of pulled the blanket off of his head and gave him `the morning
"Happy birfday! I cooked, and I carried it up. I maked the napkin
bird too," Jimmy announced, forcefully placing the tray onto his
The orange juice tipped and spilt onto mom's bare shoulder and her
eyes snapped open. "Guys? it's early?"
"Shh," dad whispered. "They worked together on this."
Mara and Jimmy beamed proudly at their handiwork.
"What have we got here? Orange juice, and toast?" He stared down at
the carpet fibers sticking to the buttery side, and then tried to
quickly brush them off, but it was hopeless. The little pieces of
crinkly white were stuck. "And? something. And sausage. Hey, I like
sausage. And pancakes?"
"Yeah, those're pancakes. Jimmy flipped `em too soon."
Jimmy frowned at his sister. "Those're eggs, daddy," he piped up
mischievously, pointing to the thin, crisp mess covering the rest of
the plate's contents. "She didn' budder da pan."
"Well, this all looks so good, guys. Lets start with the sausage."
He picked up one of the links and bit into it, practically coughing
as he did so. Looking down, he noted that the outside was warm, but
the inside was still squishy and frozen. "Good. Job." He coughed
out, swallowing quickly, and then reaching for the orange juice.
Grabbing the fork, he next tried the pancakes. They were compact and
dry as well. "Wow. That's different," he announced.
"The box said eggs and milk, but we ran outta milk, so I just used
extra eggs," the girl announced, proud of her improvisation.
Dick sat up a little further in bed, holding the tray on his lap. He
looked to his wife, then back to his children. "This is great, kids.
And I'm really proud of you guys for working together. Why don't you
guys step outside for a sec, and me and mom'll get dressed, then
we'll work on devouring this stuff, ok?" He gave them each a patient
pat on the head, then shoed them towards the door.
The two angelic little faces beamed as they floated out of the room.
Barbara sat up in bed, sighing. "They didn't make ME breakfast for
"Trust me. You don't want them to try," Dick whispered, poking at
the eggs. He contemplated disposal methods, and decided he could get
rid of most of it by flushing it down the toilet, then saying it
just looked too good to wait. "So? do you want to be the one to tell
them, or should I?" he asked, sliding out of bed.
"Tell them what?" Barbara asked, readjusting the blankets and
reaching for her chair.
Dick began taking the tray towards the bathroom. "That my birthday
was last week."
(And happy belated birthday to Charlene).