Page 123 of Only for Love

The kitchen resembles a disaster zone. I peel the bananas and pour the granola onto a plate, plucking out the M&Ms, then fill the measuring cup. “Water.”

“Water,” she repeats and helps me pour it in, singing, “P’cakes, p’cakes, I wuv p’cakes.”

I drop some extract and M&Ms in, add a squirt of chocolate syrup, then screw on the cap. “Now, shake.” Her arms hook around my neck, and we stomp around the kitchen, shaking the pancake batter until the powder mix has liquefied. We probably go a few minutes more than we need to, but what the hell.

It takes a few minutes for me to get the griddle going. Cally bores quickly during that part of the pancake-making process and sits under the table in her “fort” with her dolls, talking to them about chocolate syrup. In the last few minutes, while she’s worked alongside me and played on her own, I can see Emma’s sweetness and my tenacity in her. This is pretty much the most fun I’ve had in a kitchen. Ever.

I make a few circles of different sizes, just enough for a snack, and flip them through the air and onto plates.Mostof the pancakes make my target. A couple hit the floor. All of the tosses earn a giggle.

“Ready to decorate?”

“Weady!” Her arms shoot up, and I grab her around the waist, hoisting her high before landing her on the counter.

I’m sure there is a rule about counter sitting, but… I keep a hand on her and decide to check in on that rule possibility later. “This is what we do. Bananas—” I drop the slices onto the plate “Take some of these, and toss ’em on.”

Cally grabs and smashes the bananas then tosses them onto the pancakes and eats what’s left in her hand.

“Good?”

She nods.

“Sweet. Next, the chocolate.”

Her eyes go big, and based on the excitement exploding on her face, I decide that squirting the chocolate onto the plate is really a Cally-Daddy four-handed project. After enough chocolate syrup, I grab two forks and the plate and piggyback her to the big-girl chair.

“You good?”

She scrambles and shuffles, scooting around in the chair as I set the plate down. After a quick arrangement, we get down to serious business. I chop up the pancakes, and we dig in. They are unreal. Seriously, I am a master dessert-pancake snack chef. “These things are genius.”

“Yeah.” Her head bobs up and down. She’s eating with her mouth kind of open and chocolate smeared on her chin and cheeks.

“Someone’s going to have to hose you down.”

She giggles and stabs more pancakes off our shared pile. “Good.” She chomps on her pancake. “Weally good.”

“I agree.” We clink forks, and after a couple more bites, I let mine drop to the plate. It clatters, and I lean back in my seat. She does the same and leans back, mimicking me.

“We did a good job, Cally Bear.”

“Yeah.”

“You like me okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. Her sugary grin warms me from the inside out.

“Think we should go wake your mom?”

“Nooo,” she giggles and shakes her head.

“You sure?”

“We can jwump on her.”

I laugh, raising my eyebrows. “Wecouldjump on her.”

Covered in our snack explosion, she squeals and slides out of her chair. “Mama!”

I bound behind her and scoop her up. We head into Emma’s—no, our—bedroom and jump on the bed. Cally lands on my pillow, and I cage myself over Emma as our girl ducks under my arms and snuggles into her mom. “Tickle!”

We tickle Emma, and she squeaks and laughs, sounding exactly like our daughter. It’s in that sticky, laughing moment that I have no doubt I’m going to do this parenting thing right.

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