So we sow..

It's planting season.

When the minerals of earth and a trickle of rain will feed new life again.  Gardening can make a mother of anyone in the bringing plant to life and sustaining it, despite climate or pest.  A seed enveloped in an earthen womb, breaks through a new creation.  It is splendid in bloom and reaches for maturity, and finds a means to reproduce for a very chance at eternity.

It is never an ordinary thing to discover delicate shoots of green emerge from hibernation, commanding a presence to stretch upward and outward toward survival.  For the perennials that return, I rejoice for their appearance and erase the doubt I had harbored as to their viability after a long winter.  They claim ownership of the land they take root in.  It is grand to behold.

Cycles are everywhere in nature, cycles that endlessly, effortlessly perpetuate themselves.  And, how can we deny the design in a beginning, middle and end....with an end that holds a key, or seed, to another beginning?  The beginning is so thrilling and new, so tender and compromised, yet it must survive for the sake of the next phase to come.   Youth is brilliant and vibrant, but it goes on to bear something better once time has ripened it's potential, and, so goes the production:  the birth of fruit and grain and vegetable, the true glory of the plant.  The plant is all about the produce now and funnels all it's energy toward it.

I noticed in the drought last year, however, that the produce was quickly squelched for the sake of the plant.  The strain of the oppressive heat and the lack of rain compromised the ability to bear any more.  The plant survived a time.  Some of the plants survived the entire summer, however, the harvest was weak, if nonexistent.

I could think of myself as a plant, bearing fruit.  The fruit is sweet and bright and full of promise.  Life is the circumstances we keep, like the elements that feed or oppress us.  Sometimes it is copious and bountiful and other times are harsh and lean.  Some of these circumstances are beyond control, and others, I, in fact, perpetuate.

As time marches this family onward and upward, I have felt the moments of channeling pure goodness to my children.  However, it has become more hectic than I would like at times, and precious energy becomes diverted, even wasted.  It gets to be a place of survival and no longer production and bounty. So, I must account for that.  I must find a time to water when there is no rain.  I must provide shade from a scorching world.  I must synthesize light, and purify the air and become a place for my tender new growth to thrive year after year, displaying their beauty to the light of the sun.

The sucess in failing.

It's difficult to write about motherhood when slapping frantically through a tidal wave of uncertainty.  It cycles from time to time.  A once confident mother stops running long enough for the blurred peripheral to come into focus and realize another life is happening around her while she has been hectic with the driving and cleaning and shopping and cooking.  I buck against the concept of "mommy guilt," but at times....a mood, an action, a comparison to another mother can wash insecurity over any fortress.

Some parents are deeply committed to providing the best life for their children, come what may.  I would like to think myself one of these.  To nourish a fetus, to bring baby to breast, to crawl aside the infant rocking and teetering on hands and knees, to release the pinky-hold of a toddler to toddle on their own.   I've sat deep in the sofa sounding words to my children waiting for the brilliant moment:  to learn that letters  become a word, a sentence, a story, an adventure....until, one day, they are able to scratch out the most true and tender any story could be: "I love mom."  "I love dad." 

I've held them fevered.  I've rushed to the hospital.  I've pulled teeth dangling by a thread.  I've cleaned gravel from a flap of skin...gross, I know...  I've run alongside bicycles, stripped of training wheels, wobbling down the street.  I've cleaned sheets and underwear that should have been thrown away, and some I have thrown away.  I have been paged to report for duty at every hour of the night, including the research of countless ailments online by the glow of a laptop in an otherwise dark house, including standing in the shower desperate to help my baby breathe with croup, including the pee the puke and the nightmares.

I have sat with a child, tears rolling fat and heavy from the frustrations of homework, still urging them to resist failing themselves.  I've reassured them of the purity of their beauty, the charm and dazzling wits and incomparable spirit I see, even when others speak harshly or leave them forgotten.   I've been an audience to their every performance, clapping excessively... embarrassingly...  

I'm always on the hunt for new adventure, another experience to taste and savor for the first time together.  To me, THAT is the glory of parenting a child: to witness life unfolding and to have the privilege of having a stake in it, to guide or direct it to something whole and good.  A human life taking breath and shape, the luminous awareness of all that is art and the music of language, the germination of thought---to behold the inception of logic and paradox and irony.  Intelligence, sparkling with imagination and discovery and desire, eventually driving the child, the person, to inherit character and will.  And, they stand, with a name you gave them, a name to identify a somebody who carries some of your DNA, some of your good, some of your bad...someone unlike anybody else.  Someone you love unlike anybody else.
It is a miracle.  It is a privilege.

With all this talk of everything "I've" done, it hasn't been alone, and I haven't done anything that any other mother doesn't.  Funny, though, how it's still feels like it's never enough.  Sometimes I lie awake, plagued with a gnawing sense that I fall short.  Like a wall of clouds creeping from the horizon, a front closing in with rain and storm, my shortcomings hit me fast and hard.  I don't want to deny the room I have for improvement.  I may want to deny how large that room feels sometimes.

I suppose reevaluation is like Spring, a rebirth of life gone dormant.  And, like Spring, it gets muddy and messy and violent, sometimes.  Warm air, breathing life into fragile growth, moves in to clear out the cold....and...growth is needed, if I want to continue to take shape and still realize all that can still be new and inspiring, perpetuating what my parents witnessed budding in me so many years ago.

If I didn't feel that I was failing sometimes, then I truly would fail.  The most devastating mistakes I could make would be to resist change and resent failings.  It is a reality, as a mother, that I should never deny because it is the lives of my children at stake, and not just the living, breathing part...but the feeling, believing and daring parts that become all their goals and dreams, their possibilities, and their very ability to inspire their own children to come.

Nighty-night, Sleep tight....

Bedtime....
Parents pine for it.
Children resist.
They battle, for some inexplicable reason, this precious opportunity for rest and recuperation. While there must be a plausible explanation, it continues to evade and baffle exhausted parents to this day.
Does the paranoid mind of a child feels panicked to relinquish conscientiousness?
Do they suffer from separation anxiety?

Very, very early on, I would guess as early as day four of life, once the brain-compressing trauma of entry into the world has passed, a baby begins to convey opinions regarding how, where and when they will sleep.
And, so it begins...
Any parent who believes they will draw a line in the sand about how a baby shall sleep, will immediately be tested as to their resolve.  Baby wants held, carried, swayed, bounced, rocked, driven in a vehicle at no less than 49 mph sans stop lights...  Baby can only sleep swaddled, or in a Moby, or car seat, swing, Boppie, mommy and daddy's bed....  Baby needs binkie, blankie, stuffed orangutang, music, air purifier, a mobile, an aquarium, and lets not forget: a breast...  You name it, baby wants it, or will develop the preference for it, if not throttled or squelched.


One would think a creature in need of no less than 20 hours of sleep per day, wouldn't want to put up much of a fight.  One would also think a baby, weighing less than a bag of potatoes, with the eyesight of a mole, would be easy to control.  Did you know that a young child may fire an estimated 1 quadrillion synapses per day in their abnormally large heads?  Why wouldn't they just pass out from utter mental exhaustion?  What's the deal?  Why can't they just be like a cat and curl up to the fat laziness of it all?  It's the only time in life that a person is entitled to sleep their days away--the only time people around you will beg for you to nap.

I started training my firstborn to fall asleep on her own on day five of her life.  Standing beside her bassinet, to reassure her of my presence, patting and soothing, I faithfully followed the guidance of a "baby whisperer"...at least that's what the book called her.  Grandmothers stood outside the bedroom door, pacing and wringing hands at the absurdity of leaving an innocent, newborn--their newborn, mind you--to cry and flail.  But, eventually she did it.  I could lay her down, tip-toe out of sight and admire the sight of a baby drifting quietly to sleep.

Still...it didn't last forever.  She got older, gained more awareness and increased her mobility.  By the time she was school-aged, she developed a weird sleep-walking thing and wandered a lot during the night.  We developed an awareness of where we stepped when we got out of bed so as not to step on her body curled and twisted with blankets on the floor.

Still, all my kids have slept through the night since they were eight weeks old, that is...when we manage to get them to bed.  They're not babies anymore, so we don't physically carry them to bed.  They use their own legs.  Legs that apparently need a GPS to find their bedroom.  And, while we do have an established bed time...it still doesn't mean much, not in practical terms anyway.

Asking the children to "get ready for bed" usually falls on deaf ears.  Not to get off topic, but the ears of a child are fascinating in their function.  I can whisper from the opposite end of the house a plan involving family fun, the misbehavior of a child, or the topic of dessert, and they crawl out of the woodwork, tipped-off from their super-human hearing. When I test the hearing of my children, I simply say "ice-cream."  I will say it randomly, as a normal adult would speak in a library, and it never fails to expose the perfection of their young, tight eardrums.

Bedtime is not a Hallmark commercial around here.  We would literally have to start the bedtime "routine" at 6:00 to make the soft-lit-bedtime-story-giggle-and-tickle-in-a-quilt-made-by-grandma moment with four children.  I often wonder how many parents literally "tuck in".....every night.  We are probably failing our children in this regard.  Our "tuck in" process isn't exactly consistent or "tender."  It is random and contingent on circumstance.  Some days end too late.  Some days are too fatiguing.  But, some nights we cuddle deep in blankets and read and talk and pray.
 
Getting to that place, though, is only after the period of time in which they bump around confused, splintering off and dividing to create diversion and chaos, so that two parents find it challenging to herd them all in the same direction.  It buys them time.  They are so young that they have enormous quantities of time to burn.  Time is the one true advantage they always have over us.  No one on the planet has more time ahead of them than a baby or young child.

More often than not, we prod and plead for the children to go to bed....with clean teeth, which is usually way too much to ask.  And, once the bathroom sink and mirror are adequately splattered in toothpaste and spit, and clothes, still warm from their bodies, are strewn about the bedrooms, we make our parental appearance to button up the process and inspect for pets or siblings hidden in unauthorized beds.  Cheeks and foreheads are kissed and shoulders are hugged, love expressed and requests for water denied.  This is when they reveal an injury or illness that has suddenly become too much to bear.  We will inspect for fever or pus, but, otherwise, relegate such matters to the light of morning.

It's quittin' time, that's what bedtime is.  The official end of a parental work day.  I announce, "It's quittin' time, people!  I don't get paid overtime, so no getting out of bed!"  But, they do.  I'm always amazed at their brazen need to interrupt the only time we have to ourselves, although I have also told them it's "party time," when the cake and brownies and ice cream, oh, yes, ice cream comes out, and dad and I party while they lie captive in their rooms.  Sometimes this is true.  We have been known to bust out some snacks, fire up the internet, with a book at our side, and by the flicker of the TV, we end up dozing off in our exhaustion, until we pull ourselves up and stumble off to bed.  Grateful.  Falling head-first into the down and Egyptian cotton of our bed, only to wake up in the morning, anticipating bedtime to come again.

Spring Break, Part 2

Caught up in activity to pass the unstructured days of a Spring Break, the sun began to shine...

A universal landscape of snow surrendered as a trickle from the heights of branch and rooftop, seeping slowly down, down, as the blanket of snow--weakening, reducing, seeping, balding against the earth--found  the thawing soil drinking it down toward the tender growth seeking the strength to stand and plume.  The melt, quickening with frantic pitter-patter, dripping, tapping gutters, bouncing and draining, trickling streams flowing in an ambient activity of water marching toward a new identity.

And, soon, it all aligned as it should, and light found the ground and the vibrant green of young growth, not yet deepened and matured, almost glowing against the early morning sun, and we awoke and found Spring.  We opened our doors and windows to her eagerly, and with her, activity emerged at every turn.  Humanity found song with the birds beckoning an awakening to the senses.

The second week of Spring Break was, in fact, Spring, and we did not take it for granted.  We rambled outdoors and went on a hike toward a destination of abandoned dwelling.  The trail led us toward a home built in the late 1800's,  now sitting quiet, empty, hollow.  Much like the Winter season now behind us, it was lifeless and much too barren.  I thought of the sounds that had echoed in the halls and bounced off the trees and streams around it so many years before.  A mother, I'm sure, once chased her children outdoors on a day like our day, as they scrambled around and into one another like children do, squealing and zig-zagging through the woods.  As I padded atop the tender moss, I imagined her shoes laced tight in purpose, treading along side me, from one out-building to the next, performing duties to see her family clean and fed and satisfied.

I gazed at the structures now, lacking soul, lacking a family.  Little more than lifeless wood and cold stone with no purpose.  It had witnessed the bustle of life in another age, like the giggling and tromping of my children in the shadow it cast this April day more than 100 years since the foundations laid.  I am struck that we are essentially the same, but time has marched on, and here we sit, non-threatening trespassers, observing what live had been here in this clearing.

We dined at picnic tables.  We blew bubbles.  We turned our faces to the sun.  We basked.

The kids are different when they enter the natural world.  It provokes their imaginations and embraces the herd of them, without the constraints of walls or hypnosis of technology.  They had been saving up this energy all Winter long to bash and tumble, run and chase, climb and fall and roll and laugh and cry out as all children have, since the beginning of time, when Spring had finally come.

Look, mom! Look at me!

Becoming a parent grants access to a most peculiar event, an event that is laborious in the making and stretches indefinitely in it's plot.  You become an audience to the stage show of a human life.  A life made and observed, at times like an out-of-body experience, as something of yourself is unfolding and revealing  secrets of unimagined possibilities.  We observe  a "mini-me" making strides with an untold destination we wait to behold.  Yet, no matter how much a child is identical to our makeup, there is also the most intriguing percentage, that is not father, nor mother.  Individuality demands a witness.  Therefore, you take a seat, and with rapt attention, take in the life of a child, one act at a time.

Human development in one short year is nothing short of miraculous.  From a watery cocoon, they cry from lungs burning with their first breath, and take suck to a nectar of life.  This infant lies helpless and unable, but not ill-equipped, and so it begins.... A journey of milestones to which this infant gains mobility and control and stands erect and takes a seat to dine with us, chewing a morsel of food that could have brought death just a few short months before, and with a mother tongue will ask for more.

As that first year winds to a close, the milestones are not in such rapid succession, and with minds so attuned to our child attaining mobility and speech, we might start to take for granted the many hurdles they continue to leap everyday.  A baby doesn't ask for our attention, but they have the means to command it, and with those very same lungs our toddlers, children and adolescents beckon our gaze.

As we bump along on this planet, one thing is certain: there are a great many people living side-by-side with us.  Many, perhaps most, may possess much higher levels of achievement, natural talent, intelligence, symmetry.... and the list goes on, leaving us to feel quite common and average in relation to one another.  We plod a course very well traveled, trampled by the human experience, and, yet, we still seek validation for taking these steps of commonality.  If we are all, basically, the same and share similar levels of accomplishment, and we are equipped with equivalent bodies and brains, why do we strive for significance?  I dare say, what makes us so similar also makes us restless and becomes the very driving force to which we seek some level of recognition.

One thing to love about a child is that they have no idea that what they are achieving is so average.  They are thrilled with every single autonomous step.  More than any adult, they seem to best sense the glory of an individual attempt and succeeding at it.  I love that in any moment of learning, they burst with pride and glow in it.  They understand, more than our tired, uninspired brains that have long taken ourselves for granted, the brilliance in anything learned and retained and applied.  What better gift could we give than to lock eyes with them in that moment and witness their greatness?  A child will rarely, if ever, find satisfaction in lonely accomplishment.  So we join them and, thereby, exponentially increase the magnitude of their momentary importance, above anyone else, be it ever so fleeting.


They call out to us.... "Mom, look!"  "Dad, watch this!"  "Look at me, guys!"  "Watch me!"



It seems so demanding when taken out of context.  It sounds self-indulgent.  It's anything but.  It's the very thing that makes the human experience great.  It's the fresh air in a dull day.  It's a wave rippling through the doldrums.  It is an individual finding a place.  It is life living.

Like a tree that falls in the forest, do our kids really exist if we don't take the time to truly see them?  They  exist in an ever-changing form that is never to be repeated as the days go by.  Sometimes, we see more than they will ever know, and we witness their frustration and pain and victories quietly in the shadows, hoping and rejoicing until we bring it to light and bask together with them in understanding, knowing all too well the triumph and tragedy of the existence we share.

They require, no....need, our attention, attention that may not always be convenient, but will always be a testimony to the wonders of humanity in a single, magnificent person.




 

Know your "No"

The most powerful word in parenting.
No.
It is a command.  It is a complete sentence.  It stands for authority and represents consequence.
"No" is the entire reason for the "terrible twos."
"No" is powerful when effective, but substantially more powerful when not, and you don't want to know who has the power then....

This topic cannot be overstated when it comes to the matter of effective disciple.  It is the Alpha and Omega of parental control.  "No" is the tool to stop tracks and avert disaster. "No" is the path to any shred of dignity a parent can salvage in a public setting.

Now....parents have the rights to "No,"  but children will infringe.  One day...a toddler opens his eyes to 17 months of existence, and a top-secret memo leaks.  A revelation.  An epiphany.  They realize, when verbal skills meet determination, they have access to this powerful tool.  Misappropriated use is ugly.  But, that won't stop every child from trying to wield it.  Convinced they can carry it, they muster a defiant stance and own it.
"NOOO!!"
Firm and resilient, because they have nowhere else to be.  They've got ALL day.  It's on like Donkey-Kong.  They don't acquiesce.

When the "no's" start getting tossed around, it gets messy.  You have got to re-establish ownership quickly, because they get greedy for it.  Hungry for the power.

Claiming the "no" and using it correctly are imperative to any disciplinary success.   If your "Yes" means "maybe" and your "No" means "okay, just this once..."  then you are creating a super-villain, like a mutating viral strain, gaining strength with every weak attempt to squash it.

Educate yourself as to what you're up against.  Children have the upper hand from the beginning.  They start as a lump.  It would be abuse to say "No."  Literally.  So...it's yes to food, yes to bouncing, yes to pacifier, yes to squishy toy, yes to pacing around the living room 42 minutes at a time, yes to hanging out at 3 a.m., yes to being held while cooking dinner, yes to the smart phone....wait....

They age, and we strive to be reacquainted with our preferences again, the adult capacity of deciding what suits our fancy.  So, we test the waters.....  "No" we say, but do we mean it?  You better believe that a child knows if we mean it.  They know so much more than we could ever imagine, and they have the advantage.  They are self-centered to the core and possess fine-tuned animal instincts, having communicated non-verbally for upwards of two years and analyzing our every movement and expression, becoming experts at human interaction and reading body language.  They are building synapses at the speed of light, while we lumber through our sleep-deprived mental processes to stay one step ahead of them.

So, we say the "No."  Was there a pause?  The slightest pause has already been registered, and our rusty cogwheels have no awareness that it's too late.  Even if they don't get their way this time, they've identified the crack and are licking their chops to the sweet taste of victory to come.  Do not be mistaken, it is the hesitation, the second chances, the indecision, and worst of all: the back-pedaling that will eventually bring a mother to her knees.  It is madness.  The "no" becomes a tug-of-war instead of a line not to be crossed.  They will press and search for the point when "no" becomes "yes" and they are good at it. 

The bottom lines is:  if you're going to use the "No," you have to mean it and be prepared, flexed in your haunches, for immediate confirmation.  We must be equipped with a knee-jerk response that enforces a "No" immediately, seriously, unequivocally.  No second guessing.  The crossroads of a "No" leaves you facing child, both searching for the bluff.  Do not shift your eyes.  Do not change your stance.  Do not allow changing circumstances to prevent you from follow through.  See it all the way to success.  You are a pillar of authority, and no matter what chaos ensues, you stand firm, poised only for substantiation of your command.

A child will throw everything they've got at you.  It might get ugly, embarrassing.  But, I promise you, when they realize that your "No" means no, they won't waste their energy anymore.  A child will respect a firm line, but they know, like they are equipped with a psychological radar, when an adult will cave or look away or provide multiple "chances."  It is then, you become your own worst enemy.

Arm yourselves, moms!  Do it sooner than later.  Meet the challenge of defiance with one option and one option only:  yours.  It is the best gift you will ever give yourself.  Your preference counts.  Your opinion matters.  Don't be bulldozed!  Find your power you have within, and your children will rest easy knowing you have the control to guide them to their own success.

Spring Break, Part 1

Vacation for children is rarely a mutual experience for parents.  More work may actually be involved in vacationing, as oppossed to our daily grind, because it is imperitive to keep expectations from plummeting to the reality we are all too familiar with in day-to-day living.  Every effort is made to avoid reminders of home.

 But, my topic is not really vacation, it's worse:  a school break without the glory of vacation, more specifically (drum roll, please):
An Indiana Spring Break.

The Midwest, in March, is a gamble, to say the least.  This year, it was anything but warm.  M'lady, March, simply wouldn't have it and sought some sort of retribution for the record-breaking heat we enjoyed the year prior.  While we frolicked in the tropical heat last year like spoiled Polynesians, we paid the piper this year with a freakish post-Solstice snowstorm.  Not what you want when the students in your children's classes are talking about Florida-bound plans making you, the room parent in charge of the Spring Party to usher in the very "Break" of Spring, very jealous indeed.  I was present in class when the teacher made the rounds to ask what exciting plans each child had in store for their Spring Break.  My kid wasn't going to Disney World....

Sigh....what to do, what to do?  I don't base my success as a parent on a trip to the ocean, although I wouldn't feel UN-successful if we were heading to the Sunshine State, but I do find deep satisfaction in making a break from school worth breaking for.  Time spent with me has to be at least more exciting than fractions.  My oldest daughter went through the trouble of making a binder entitled: "My spring break schedule and fun things I did."  Talk about pressure...  She's got every day of the two weeks swimming in a sea of blank white paper, staring at me like a dare.  How am I going to see those pages filled?

I started by initiating a new tradition:  every Spring Break will begin with cupcakes!  New rule.  Don't know if it's more for them or for me, but it feels festive and bright and "Spring-y," and I'm sticking to it for the next 14 years until all my children graduate high school.  By then, I should definitely have more gray hair than Chestnut (yes, Chestnut), and I will probably continue the tradition from there with my grandchildren....yikes!

Here's the best part about a break in the school grind:
Waking up with daylight.  Moving slow.  Eating breakfast together in our pajamas.  Discovering an activity around town.  Freedom to be busy between the hours of 2:30-4:00 without stopping to report to a school pick-up line.  Time with grandparents and cousins.  Staying up late.

Here's the worst part:
Stumbling over bodies parked in front of the TV every morning, shoo-ing them away like flies collected on an old hamburger, to find something, anything more productive.  Noise.  Finding something to do out of the house.  Mess.  Late dinners.  The kids never seem to go to bed.

I enjoy being with my kids.  I also enjoy my house not looking like some sort of animal rescue shelter.  So, they must help with chores and picking up, while I dangle the carrot of good things to come.

This week, as I mentioned, started with a thick blanket of snow.  My mind kept trying to sync the longer days of light and sounds of turtle doves with the 9 inches of snow on the ground, but, out came the snowsuits and boots, nonetheless. They enjoyed playing in it for at least 15 minutes, until two of the four ended up landing face down in the powdered ice, and they came crying of the shock and pain, while one other child trailed behind in tears from "not meaning to push" the 3-year-old to his demise.  That was fun.



We did find warmth the next day at Garfield Park Conservatory.  The bulbs in bloom made the air thick with fragrance and my nose was grateful for the humid warmth.   We lingered for two hours, until someone had an accident in his britches...but that's another story.  I gave the kids turns with my camera, which added to the foraging-in-the-rainforest-experience.

 If you ever want to have a good laugh, give a kid charge of a camera.  They need it long enough for their creative eye to engage, but not so long you've lost track of where they might have discarded it.  When they're done, enjoy scrolling through the 527 pictures to replay their steps and see what they see....

They spent a long weekend with grandparents, making costumes, working the winter garden, and baking with some very custom "shape ware."  Apparently, my father has become adept at ordering specialized culinary equipment off the internet.  He has a collection of bake ware in a variety of shapes.  Castle cakes, pineapple cakes, you name it....  He has warned the perils of looking up "shapeware" in a search engine, as it may also apply to lingerie.   Assuming they weren't exposed to any "angels" in their "unmentionables," I believe they were dosed with enough sugar to make it a good time. 

What's in store this week?  We'll have to wait and see.  I do know we will get out, get creative and try to find some ever strengthening April sun to warm our faces and the memories we will make.






I did make some pretty killer gluten-free, Meyer lemon waffles.  They are also dairy-free.  The recipe is an adaptation from a tradition waffle, but it's all mine:

Gluten-free Meyer lemon waffles

2 Cups all-purpose gluten-free flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
3 Tblsp sugar
2 Tblsp chia seeds
zest of 2 Meyer lemons
 mix and add wet ingredients:
3 eggs
2 oz oil (I used sunflower)
1 1/2 Cups rice milk
juice of 2 Meyer lemons
1 tsp vanilla

Mix batter.  Allow to rest 5 minutes.  Ladle in waffle iron.  Cook until golden brown and serve warm with maple syrup!