birthday breakfast

My grandparents (on my dad's side) have a tradition where every year on our birthday, they take us out for a birthday breakfast. And it's ineveitable that each year, we head to a lovely little place tucked in a small mall called The Original Pancake House.


Several of the waitresses there remember me from when I was little -- about three -- when I would color the sheets of animal drawings they gave and make the various noises. A cow goes moo, horse goes neigh, and pig goes oink. They also had Disney coloring sheets and I can vividly remember coloring Simba yellow and Ariel's hair a deep red.


Then, when the food would come, I'd push the pictures aside and eat my pancakes slathered in syrup and lavishly filled with sweet, hot blueberries. With a mug of hot cocoa (topped with a generous helping of whip cream), next to my orange juice, I'd ask for a sausage from my grandma and a bite of my grandpa's Dutch Baby Pancake. It was one of my birthday treats and I would stuff myself silly, knowing that it only happened once a year.

This past year, my grandparent's took both my sister Grace and I out for our breakfast at the same time on my birthday. I watched her slide into the back booth and order the blueberry pancakes along with a piping hot cup of cocoa as well. She chatted happily and dug into her pancakes as soon as they arrived, determined that she would try and eat the three massive blueberry pancakes that were placed before her.


It was a bittersweet year for two reasons. One, the mall that had the pancake house in it was set for demolition in August, so our beloved breakfast place is no longer be there (although I believe they're reopening at a new location). And two, by bringing Grace along, it made me see how quickly and fleetingly childhood lasts.

When I turned fifteen in June, I cried. It sounds silly, but it seemed so official. Like I was truly growing up. Stopping time may be no more than an often wished for fable, but that day, I wanted to bottle myself and everyone I loved in it so that things could always stay the same.

But change isn't always bad, though more often than not, it's bittersweet. I'm excited for this new stage of life and I'm determined to not let it pass by without truly cherishing and seizing the many days of this season. I love looking back to where I was a year ago and seeing who much I've grown. The changes that have come; the dreams that have become realities; the person I'm slowly discovering that is truly me.

For some thoughts prompted by a post on pancakes, my heart is feeling pretty full. Sort of like the feeling after Thanksgiving dinner when you can't eat another bite and barely have the energy to talk, but you're surrounded by family who love you and that itself is enough. It's a good kind of full.