…I have my kids’ favorite pancake recipe memorized.

I don’t remember many baking recipes by heart because I don’t make them enough to bother. But this one gets used almost every week.

Which is good news for me because it means I have less to dick around with in the kitchen when I’m tired and cranky. I can just get straight to work. Sometimes today is worth it not because I’m happy or fulfilled, but because I’m just more efficient at all the other stuff. I’ll take it.

This isn’t a recipe blog, but if somehow you got here looking for one, here you go.

In a dry ingredients bowl, mix: 1.5 cups flour, 1 tbsp sugar, 1 tsp salt, 3.5 tsps baking powder, 1 tbsp cinnamon, 1 tbsp flax seed if you have it.

In a wet ingredients bowl, mix 2 cups milk, 1/2 cup pumpkin, and one egg. Mix until smooth then blend in 3 tbsp melted butter.

Dump wet into dry and mix until lightly combined. Then add as many chocolate chips as you want. Mix until well combined, but still kinda lumpy. Let it sit for like 10 minutes and then cook it on a pan the way you cook any other pancakes.

Serve with whatever. I’m not your dad.


…the park we’re camping at has an actual playground.

To be clear, I fucking hate camping. Some of the dumbest shit imaginable. You pay a ton of money for a house with plumbing and electricity and then instead of drinking in front of a movie you choke on smoke and fester with swamp ass for a weekend. White people have the worst ideas.

But you know what would make this trip worse? Not having a playground for the kids. Because then instead of distracting them with a swing set I’d be spending the whole day trying to explain to them why we’re camping even though I also want to play video games. Lucky thing this park has the goods.

Not like the last park we went to. The sign said it had a playground but it turned out to be a “natural” playground. You know what that shit was?

It was a log. A fucking log, guys. I wish I was fucking joking.

Not even two of them. Just one janky ass log. Lying on the ground. With two sad chains draping off into the dirt, possibly relics from that wonderful day somebody dragged the log into place and then gave up.

That playground is to an actual playground what camping is to an actual weekend.