sunday mornings

Sunday mornings have always been my favourite time of the week - they mean lie-ins and lazy breakfasts and postponing busy work until tomorrow. It's a catch-your-breath day, of sorts. When our family lived in Nice my father, bless him, would get up early and take his morning jog down to this darling little pâtisserie, returning with a string-bound box of hazelnut peach tarts that us kids devoured like starving inmates. Years later in Quebec, in a tiny flat above a bakery that also sold cigars, I would think back on those delightful treats as I purchased the paper and fresh croissants and scones to devour with my then-boyfriend in bed over coffee and crossword puzzles.

Things change, of course. When you have kids, there's a limit to how relaxed and sedentary one can be. Thankfully our monkeys seem to enjoy the slower pace of the weekend and afford us a couple extra hours of peace and quiet so long as we promise to provide them with something shamelessly unhealthy for brekkie. 

To this end, my brother bought me an excellent device:

It looks so shiny and pretty, tucked away in it's spot on the counter, catching the sun's morning rays and - 

What is this? Surprise!waffles, gasp! Is it any wonder why Oom Fitz is their favourite uncle? 

Now, to be fair, I'm not as cool a mum as my dad is a dad. I make the waffle batter with oat flour and greek yogurt, instead of white flour and milk, and they have to have at least one type of fruit on top as well as their maple syrup, but they don't really care, especially as I'll sometimes make whipped cream or, if we've got a tin of condensed milk, caramel. A treat is a treat is a treat, and they relish the change from their typical mealie, fruit and egg weekday breakfasts. 

On that note, I'm off to go enjoy my own extravagant Sunday waffle. 

Much amore!

Diz