It’s a rare Saturday morning I don’t meander downstairs to the aroma of fresh ground coffee and pancakes in the skillet. It’s my husband’s weekend ritual with the kids, rich with joy. At no point did he actually declare this a thing. It simply came to be, one week building upon the next, until we looked up one day realizing our children had come to expect it. To their little minds, Saturday mornings effortlessly translate to—Daddy is home, pancakes are slathered with butter and syrup, and celebration is in the air! It’s as simple and joyous as that…