The day before Christmas, the kitchen was lit up by the sun, and snowflakes stuck to the windows like art painted on a canvas.

“Get up,” My mom whispered. 

“Ugh, it’s too early to make pancakes.”

“It’s 7:30, Ben.”

“That’s too early.” I rolled out of bed in my smiley face pajamas and stretched like I had awoken from a hundred year nap.

Sizzle, pop, crack – the batter touched
the pan.

My eyes lingered on the Christmas tree with presents under the sweet smelling pine. Mom mashed bananas and noticed how distracted I was.

“Ben, stop looking at your phone. Don’t you want to know how to do this later? The pancakes need to be flipped now.”

I took a whiff of the fluffy cakes and flipped them like a master chef.

Mom laughed and continued mashing
bananas.

It was almost time to mix the batter with the bananas.

“Mom can I do the honors?”

“Let me show you how to do it.”

The air smelled fresh.

I stacked the pancakes like a three-story building. I sprinkled chocolate chips onto the top and evenly poured the hot, sticky, maple syrup. I had never been up to help my mom make them, but now I ask my mom if we can make chocolate chip banana pancakes every weekend.