On Sunday morning at 7:15 AM I woke up to a bottle of Aunt Jemima maple syrup being shoved in my face. And a cute little bright-eyed blonde boy saying, "ancakes."
I groaned when I saw the time, but he was so cute you can bet I woke up and made pancakes.
He doesn't do that on weekday mornings (praise the almighty). Is he grasping the concept of a Sunday, I wonder?