Of waffles and other peaceful things...

It's Saturday morning, rainy and blustery. Perfect autumn weather, if you ask us. We just finished our weekend morning tradition of homemade waffles and now our bellies are full and we're ready for the day. Saturdays are my favorite. We can sleep as long as we want, which I'll admit isn't even that long in most people's books, but at least it's not 6am. When we do wake up, we can take as long as we want to stretch and relax and drowse, talking lazily with each other until the growl of our stomachs can no longer be ignored, at which point we get up and start breakfast together in the kitchen. It's the same routine every Saturday - two bowls, Isaac with his wheat flour, me with my assortment of teff, quinoa, and brown rice flours. I grind the flax seeds for both of us, Isaac melts our honey and butter together on the stove. I retrieve the baking powder, cinnamon, and salt from the cupboard while Isaac collects the wet ingredients from the fridge. We each take care of our respective bowls, but have done this every week for the past year that it's become so familiar, we could do it with our eyes closed and never miss a beat. I tell Isaac he can pour his waffle first, but he never does. Ever the gentleman. As my waffle cooks, I pick out the berries that sound the best so we can start their melting process. Once I'm happily preparing my perfectly toasted waffle, Isaac pours his and lets me start eating mine while it's still hot. It's the sign that the weekend has come, that today is going to be a good day, that the world is going to be alright.

I love Saturdays.