Sunday morning I wake up thinking about my dad’s warm, milky pancakes and crisp bacon, while I hear the TV droning on and on about the weather.

I leap out of bed and into my bathroom to prepare for the day; brushing my teeth with the spicy mint toothpaste. I skip into the kitchen to greet my parents and my dog. As my dad places the steaming hot bacon onto the serving plate, I can’t help but steal a couple pieces.

I take Kobe, my dog, upstairs to wake my brothers, Kobe follows me like an Instagram account. Dad asks me to bring my mom her breakfast, so I take the tray with the buttery toast and bubbling tea to my mom in her bedroom while Kobe is trailing behind me. Finally, after all of my “hard” work my dad rewards me with my breakfast.

Happier than a little girl at an ice cream shop, I gladly take the plate from my dad. I stroll to the kitchen, grab a silver fork from the silverware drawer, and “start making my way” not down town but to the dining room table. While I wait for the ice cream on my pancakes to melt I consume my two pieces of crunchy bacon, I eat slowly savoring the taste and giving my ice cream time to thaw. As soon as my ice cream is finished melting I immediately stab my fork into one of the squares my dad has sliced into each pancake. Each bite I take is like a piece of heaven.

When I have finished my pancakes I am satisfied but I can never wait for the next Sunday to come.