Homemade Pancakes

Beep! My eyes snapped open the moment my hand slammed down on the button of my alarm clock. I breathed in, squinted at the sunlight through my window, and my stomach growled. My mother was making pancakes, and my mouth watered at the thought of it. Like a spring, I threw my blanket off of me, not bothering to pick it up. With one sloppy sock on, I rushed to brush my teeth and then flew down the stairs as fast as I could, with loud thuds on each step. After, I catapulted myself into the kitchen and smiled. My mother’s warm brown eyes greeted me as she poured the batter on the sizzling black pan. “Good morning, mom!” I beamed. “Look who woke up,” she exclaimed cheerfully. Then, I spotted my brother leaning against her, waiting impatiently for his pancakes. My brother’s chubby face pokes out from behind my mother’s hip. “I call dibs on the first pancake,” I announced. “No, me first!” Before I could respond, my mother said sternly, “kids.” Our jaws snapped shut immediately, and I counted to ten. “Fine, since I’m more mature, you can have the first one,” I joked, ruffling his spiky hedgehog-like hair. “Hmph!” We turned to wait in the dining room with matching eager grins, but as we approached, they dropped when we noticed our father finishing his last pancake at the table. My brother’s eyes widened, and I released a gasp; “how come you got them first?” My father smirked childishly at us, his eyes crinkling from smiling behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses. Sitting down at the dining table and looking around the room, my heart squeezed; I felt so content with my life. These people, these experiences, and these memories are filled with love. They are my home.