Today is National Waffle Day. Now, I know there seems to be a national day for EVERYTHING. National Donut Day. National Dog Day. National Wear Your Pajamas Backwards While Eating Pickles Day. Okay, I made that last one up, but give it time. But National Waffle Day? That one I can get behind.
Waffles aren’t just breakfast to me. Waffles are a whole memory. Growing up, Mom made breakfast every Saturday morning. Usually it was pancakes, but every once in a while, the waffles came out. And when the waffles came out, we knew it was a really special day! She had this old round green waffle maker that was already ancient back then, and somehow it made the best waffles in the world. I can still remember waking up and smelling them before my feet ever hit the floor.
And when Mom made waffles, you didn’t just smell them in the kitchen. Oh no. You wore them. That smell got in your hair. It got on your clothes. It followed you right out the front door. You could leave the house three hours later and walk into a store smelling like a human Eggo. And nobody cared. Because it smelled like home.
Mom was amazing at making home feel like home. She taught piano right up until 5:00, but somehow dinner was on the table at 5:00 every night. I still don’t understand that kind of time management. I can put something in the microwave for two minutes and somehow be running late. Saturdays meant waking up to the smell of breakfast. Sundays meant walking in the door after church and smelling an incredible meal that was already waiting for us. And between my mom and my grandma, there was always something cooking and our house always smelled like something good. I don’t think I realized then how much those smells were becoming part of my memories. Even now, one familiar smell can take me right back there.
I didn’t know it then, but so many of the memories I would treasure most were being made around that kitchen. Warm waffles. Butter melting into all those little squares. Syrup filling every available space because, really, isn’t that what those squares are FOR? And that smell. Good grief, that smell.
Isn’t it funny how that works? You think you’re going to remember the big stuff. The vacations. The birthdays. The milestones. And you do. But then one day you smell something cooking and suddenly you’re a kid again, standing in your mom’s kitchen on a Saturday morning. That’s the stuff that gets me.
And I have to laugh at this picture of Mom in her waffle hat. If Mom had actually owned a waffle hat, I’m pretty sure she would have worn the thing 
while she made waffles. She probably would have worn it to chemo too, just because she could. Thanks to ChatGPT, Mom gets her waffle hat. And I have a feeling she would approve.
Today, sadly, I won’t be eating the waffles. My gut has apparently filed an official complaint against anything remotely fun right now, so waffles are definitely not on the menu. And let me tell you, I’d give just about anything for one of Mom’s waffles.
But I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ll make some anyway. Maybe I’ll make them for someone special. Maybe I’ll find somebody who needs a plate of warm waffles and a little extra love today. Because maybe that’s the better way to remember Mom anyway. She fed people. She loved people. She made ordinary Saturdays special without ever realizing we would still be talking about those Saturdays all these years later.
So today I may not get to eat the waffle. But I can make the waffle. I can smell the waffle. And apparently, if history repeats itself, I can wear the waffle for the rest of the day. And you know what? I’ll take it.
Because sometimes the things we miss most aren’t really things at all. They’re people. They’re moments. They’re home. And sometimes… they smell a whole lot like waffles.
Happy National Waffle Day!
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