We take our pancakes seriously in this house. For the past several years, we have made pancakes every Sunday morning, like clockwork. Of course, this tradition goes over *very* well with the kids, which means we need to make at least a double batch, and a triple batch if we want to have leftovers for weekday breakfasts. Picky Evie generally tries to eat her entire week’s allotment of food in that one meal. Last week, she ate 13 pancakes (granted, smallish, but still).

Even with two griddles going, demand far outstrips supply, and the kids are clamoring for more as fast as I can make them. Right about when I’m finishing up cooking the last of the batter, everybody else finally gets their fill, which means by the time I sit down, I eat solo.

Like all of the best traditions, it evolved organically, but is now firmly entrenched in the fiber of our family. I’m not joking when I say that I think all four of us look forward to Pancake Day. As traditions go, it’s not the worst thing in the world.

My favorite part about Pancake Day, is trying different recipes. There’s our famous pumpkin pioneer pancakes, slow rise pancakes, and coconut pancakes with pineapple sauce (wow, been too long since I’ve posted a pancake recipe on here!). We’ve done crepes, Dutch babies, and sour yogurt pancakes. Pancakes with jam, pancakes with marmalade, and pancakes with lots and lots of maple syrup. Blueberry pancakes, walnut pancakes, and peanut butter pancakes. And then there’s French toast. Don’t even get me started on French toast!

I hope that we have Pancake Day for the next 20 years. I hope that when my kids are teenagers, they make sure they’re home (and awake) on Sunday morning (don’t worry, I’m not holding my breath). I hope that when my kids have kids of their own, they make pancakes on Sunday.

Long live Pancake Day!