Lovely, Lazy, Hot, and Not part 14

Russel

I don't know what it is about the smell of eggs, but it always seems to put me in a good mood. "Eggs!" I sigh with a smile as I step off the last stair of my house, into the dining room. A tired looking Amber and Stacy are already sitting at the table, Stacy lazily moving a spoon around in her cereal bowl, yawning, and Amber taking a bite of a piece of toast while reading her morning devotional. Kenny is in the kitchen, watching as mum makes pancakes in the frying pan. My mum makes English pancakes still, refusing to switch and make them the American way. English pancakes are much life French crépes in that they are thin. My mum has the syrup out and eggs on the oven, so that the pancakes can be enjoyed by everyone in the family-dad, Jameson, and myself prefer them wrapped around eggs, (and perhaps some bacon,) while Kenny, Amber, Stacy, and mum prefer them straight up with syrup. Lellin sits next to the breakfast table in her high chair, getting Cheerios everywhere. "Smells delicious, mum," I say, walking up behind her and putting my hand on her shoulders. She smiles and turns her head slightly, "Thanks, darling. Oh, could you do me a favor?"

"We're having pancakes, remember," I reply. Mum smiles, "Could you wake your father? I tried to get him up, but he refuses to leave his bed until 11 o'clock on Saturdays." She rolls her eyes, "Honestly, its not as if he was up all night working or something. He went to bed at nine last night!" She laughs, "Anyway, would you mind fetching him?" I smile, "Of course, mum. I'll be right back." I walk out of the kitchen, mess up Stacy's already-horrible hair, (to which he replies, "Don't touch my hair!") and walk up the stairs.

"Dad. Get up." My dad groans, "Ten more minutes." I roll my eyes, "Dad, get up," I repeat. He looks at me, "Morning, Russel. He smiles and sits up, stretching. "Did you have fun last night?" I nod, smiling, as I think of Venice walking by me down to the little pond on Thomas's large estate. She almost fell in, and I doubled over laughing at her klutziness. She splashes me, and when I yelled, "Don't splash me!" with a laugh, she mimicked, in a horribly unrealistic British accent, "Don't splawsh may!" I laughed and splashed her back. "That's good," my dad says, getting out of bed. He wears plaid boxers and an oversize T-shirt, similar to my own pajamas. "I'll be down in a minute. What's for breakfast?" I smile, "Pancakes." My dad smiles, too, "Correction. I'll be down in less than a minute." I laugh, close the bedroom door, and go back downstairs to smell the eggs and pancakes.

© 2010