Don't Waffle on Pizza

It doesn't matter if they ate it yesterday and tomorrow is a birthday party so they know they'll get it again. If the calendar reflects Rebecca Black's favorite day of the week, it's supposed to be pizza for dinner.

I learned this while summoning the will to make waffles. 

I thought I'd picked a surefire winner because usually waffles earn me a chorus of gratitude and joyful sticky faces.  Not on the day of the week that honors Freya, Norse goddess of love, fertility and war.

"But it's Friday..." one trailed off sadly, whispering to another who walked into the kitchen to ask "What's for dinner?"  "It's not pizza." You would have thought he was breaking the news of a dearly departed gently to someone who had just discovered her true love. 

It was like I flunked motherhood.

So I took out the strawberries in the fridge.  Slicing them and arranging them like pepperoni with melted butter and syrup for the cheese and sauce, I thought I'd triumphed.  "Lookie! Mom made a breakfast pizza. Isn't it cool?" It worked for two seconds.  Then reality set in.

"But sausage pizza is soooooooo yummy."
"And I love cheese."
"And no dishes." an older one piped up.

I looked at the batter and the plate of waffles six stacked high.  "You're getting waffles."

Another kid came in and I'm not sure it was not entirely planned..."Hey Mom? I have a gift certificate...could we call and order..." I stopped the question dead at that point.  "The next person who complains about waffles gets to do the dishes."

Silence.

I muttered to myself in irritation.  "I burnt one. Darn it.  I hate burnt waffles."

"MOM! You complained about the waffles. You HAVE TO DO THE DISHES!"  Suddenly dinner was eaten with great glee...at my expense. 

As I did the dishes that evening, I allowed myself one more mutter....I should have ordered pizza.