I can smell it in my dream. A warm buttery flavor wafts around my nose and hugs it tightly. The vanilla essence tingles my lips and it brings my eyes open. It can only mean one thing; baby pancakes. I look to the right to see if Chelsea has already woken up. She is a year younger than me, and we are the closest cousins you could ever imagine. She has already gotten up and I can hear her voice mingle into the living room where I had been sleeping. I stretch my back and get up off the ground. It isn’t comfortable sleeping on the carpet at Grandma’s house, yet I wouldn’t dare sleep anywhere else but the floor. The television has been left on and is playing old Nickelodeon cartoons, and it brings me back to the days of childhood. The easier days when everything was simple and this house was like a playground. I think back to when my mom and I lived here for a period of time, and I can only remember fond memories. Having barbecues with the whole family, waking Grandma up for late night snacks and playing in the garden. I wipe the crusties out of my eyes and journey into the kitchen. Grandma is mixing the batter and placing each dollar sized plop onto the little stove. She is wearing the same green nightgown with the thousands of stains and her blonde hair is a mess.

“Good morning sweetie pie! How did you sleep?” she asks in her usual lovey-dovey voice.

“Good! When are those baby pancakes ready Granny Pie? I am starving!” I muttered. My Sweet Grandma isn’t the “normal” type of grandma. She is the person I look up to the most, and she is pretty young at the age of 60. All of her grandchildren have called her Sweet Grandma since anyone can remember, and since I am the oldest, I believe I started the trend. Her wisdom is infinite, and I know I can talk to her about anything in the world with no judgment. I talk to her as if she was one of my best friends and she loves it. The fog is looming around the neighborhood, which can be overlooked through the window, above the sink. I take a seat at the bar on the big wooden stools. Chelsea already has a big glass of Ovaltine in front of her and I can smell the delicious coffee brewing in the corner.

Sweet Grandma tells us a story and we listen intently, although we have probably heard it multiple times before. Chelsea and I bicker back and forth for a while, before Grandma flips the little pancakes and puts them on white paper plates. She drizzles butter over the golden top and sprinkles powdered sugar until it looks like a snow storm hit the area. We eat them before she has time to make another batch.

“Y’know, you guys are going to look back at these mornings and remember me only for the baby pancakes!” Sweet Grandma exclaims every time. These mornings spent with my grandma and cousin are the memories that I will never forget. The simple times where we bond together, and eat the delicious creations called baby pancakes.