Casey and the Pancake House

Casey loves the Pancake House. The day Greg and Jordan got married, some of us got together for breakfast at the Original Pancake House in Edina.

Please note: this is not to be confused with the International House of Pancakes, which is crap and which doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Original Pancake House. The one I'm talking about has, you know, good food.

Anyway, we had breakfast there once in October, and for weeks afterward, Casey would hand me his shoes, point at his coat, and explain to me, using all the words he knows, the process by which I'd prepare him for a trip to the Pancake House. I like when he's excited about things, but it's even more fun when it's his idea out of nowhere. "Pancake HOUSE! Pancake HOUSE!" he'd yell. I don't know why it made such an impression on him, but you no longer have to ask him if he wants to go. Just assume that he does. All the time.

So when friends were in town for Thanksgiving, and someone requested the Pancake House, I knew I'd have to take Casey along, even if the rest of the family stayed home. So I took Casey for a return trip to the Pancake House, where he spent 45 minutes running up and down the sidewalks following Sam, just like the last time. Then I set him up with some cinnamon French toast and chocolate milk. Maybe it's not such a mystery why he likes it there.

A lot of the dishes come with whipped cream. And a lot of the dishes come with whipped butter, which comes out white and looks exactly like the whipped cream. You see where this is going, right? It's not that hard to keep them straight, but if you're a toddler with a cup of what appears to be whipped cream, and you've been given a fork and a plate of food, and it's your choice what to eat first, what would you do? I was talking to someone at the time, so my attention was on the other end of the table, and while it was, Casey apparently stuck his fork in the butter, came up with a huge chunk of it, and stuffed it in his mouth. Mmm.

At least he ate it and didn't drop it into his lap. But I'm going to keep a closer eye on his butter next time.

This is a bit after the fact, obviously, but I'm writing it down anyway. I just know that someday, I'm going to wish I'd written this up so I'll remember the day Casey ate a cup of butter.

I am concerned

Only recently did I realize that "Segway," the product name, was probably based on "segue," the word meaning "transition." Hey, that's clever! I thought. It was a nice moment for me, but it was a little bit ruined by my immediate flush of shame as I realized that it took me ... what, five years to figure that out? How long have those things been around, anyway?

Also, just today I realized that the skyway bagel place I've been mourning for the past four weeks is not gone, it's just moved -- across the hallway. And has been there since October.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing these things down here. I guess I'd like a record someday, so that when the doctor asks Erika about the whens and hows of my mental decline, she has some useful guideline anecdotes.