It's nine-thirty in the morning. Breakfast is cleaned up and put away. Two little girls arrive. They've eaten at home, but they can smell the pancakes still. They love my pancakes.
"Kimber, can I have a pancake?"
I get out plate, fork, pancake, syrup.
"My mom says syrup is bad for my body. She said you have to put peanut butter and honey on it."
The syrup would be so much easier. Not to mention ten times cheaper. But. She's right. Who am I to fight against better childrearing practices than I generally employ? I shift the baby to my left hip, and dodge her attemps to intercept the knife as I spread the peanut butter. Pour and spread the honey.
Four pancakes later, all the other kids want to try some with pb and h, too. So, not playing favorites, I get some for everyone. Which they partially consume and the remainder they smear all over the newly tidied kitchen. It's ten thirty and it looks like I never got around to cleaning up breakfast.
"Mmmmmm," first pancake asker says, the one who doesn't eat syrup because it's bad for her, the one I broke open the $9 jar of honey for in order to keep her inner sanctum undefiled. "I wish I had a cup of coffee to go with this."
"Coffee is bad for you," another kid exclaims.
"No it isn't," the healthfood conscious child retorts, "My mom just puts sugar in it for me, and then it's good for kids."
Almost as perplexing as the ultra healthfood obsessed/chainsmoker mother of another child in my care.
Just doing their part, I guess, to keep all facets of the economy running.