Nailed it.

One of my favorite memories of my dad as a kid was Sunday mornings.  These mornings generally meant one of two things: either my dad would go out golfing early and bring back doughnuts as if to pay the fee to his daughters for letting him golf, or there were bunny pancakes.  Yes, that hot mess of a pile of pancake batter pictured above is the making of a bunny pancake.  I need more practice.

I love bunny pancakes.  I am practicing them now because it is important to have memory-making skills.  To me, bunny pancakes represent some of the best childhood moments.  Not only did my dad cause me an unhealthy appreciation for carbohydrates, he showed that he cared through hand-crafted flapjacks.  Occasionally, he even went for the retro square-shaped waffle iron, and to this day I refuse to eat waffles that aren't square.

 This one turned out a little better:

 At any rate, I am pleased to make Sunday morning pancakes (or, as an alternative, square waffles) a tradition in our house.  In the tradition started by my dad, I of course need to make enough pancakes to feed me and twenty of my closest friends.  That way, I can eat pancakes for days after.  I have been eating one long meal of pancakes going on 48 hours now.

Happy memory making... Dads, start practicing your bunny pancakes.  Your daughters might blog about it some day.