As I walked into the kitchen I was greeted with the buttery, sweet aroma of fresh pancakes. Scenes of slight chaos played out on the bench top as ingredients from the fridge and the pantry lay scattered on top of each other, mindlessly thrown to the side with the apparent belief that if you continue to ignore them they will disappear, better yet put themselves away,
I was prepared to overlook the mess, not just because the smell of the pancakes was so overwhelming but it was my 16-year old son cooking. And he was preparing the pancakes for his girlfriend.