I made French toast for the kids for breakfast today. (I didn’t take a photo. Sorry, I’m off my game this week. The photo to the right is someone else’s French toast.)
While I was mixing things up, my son pushed a chair across the room, climbed up next to me at the counter, and announced that he would help.
He stood on the chair and surveyed the scene: four slices of whole wheat bread, an empty plate (the way station for the soaked bread slices), and a pie plate where I’d mixed eggs, soy milk, vanilla, cinnamon, and a touch of maple syrup.
I watched him look at each item in turn before he pointed to the mixture in the pie plate.
“Is this the French?” he asked.
Imperfect Happiness 