My sister's Birthday Present Part II

You weren't even a glimmer in my eye yet...
Ty was two, I was a big ol' 6.
We lived next door to Nana and Sweet in a quad-plex on Cloverdale between Olympic and Pico near La Brea.
I don't know how many times this happened, but I know it was more than once.
Saturday mornings I'd wake up, and wait, mostly quietly, for Ty to do the same, then he'd start bouncing in his crib.
He would bounce and bounce, and finally, Nana would creep into our room, and pick Ty up out of his bed, and
motion for me to come to her side, and I would race to embrace her around her legs, and then
the three of us would creep out of our apartment across the corridor to hers, to be met by Sweetie, singing in the kitchen.
It always felt like magic time. The TV was always on, and he'd be cooking bacon, and eggs, and toast, or sometimes
pancakes.
He'd serve them up to us while we'd sit on the floor with Mouton and watch Saturday morning "whatever was on".
They were joy. They were exciting. They were beautiful.
They loved us with big, warm hugs, and loud voices, and cheery greetings.
They made us think there was nothing else more important.
We were cute.
At some point we'd be returned to our parents.
Ty would nap.
I would play, quietly (sometimes).
But, I lived for those Saturday mornings, and to this day,
because of our Nana and Sweetie, and that Saturday morning ritual
I am never happier than when I am in the kitchen, on any morning - be it a holiday or weekend - making breakfast for those I love.