My first moment of mothering.

My daughter wants to give me breakfast in bed. To her it’s the ultimate treat, the ultimate way to show that you care is with breakfast in bed. I think the tv shows and movies must really make a big to-do about serving a mother breakfast in bed, because I, too, was desperate to give my mother what she really wanted when I was little – breakfast in bed. I knew that when I walked into my mom’s room with a breakfast tray, that she would know I had arrived. That I knew what moms really want for Mother’s Day: the opportunity to spill maple syrup on their sheets.

A Jude in the belly and a Gigi close by.

So there we were on that morning. Finally, it had arrived. My brothers and I stood closely by my dad’s elbow as he turned her eggs, as he buttered her toast, as he poured her coffee, as he browned her hashes, and then he turned and put it all in our hands. We got to take the credit for this.

My mother and grandmother

Proudly, we marched the breakfast the three of us had slaved over up the stairs and into my parents bedroom. I remember walking in and seeing her there. She was all propped on pillows, waiting expectantly. I know every kid thinks their mom is pretty, but I remember her face as particularly happy and glowy that morning. The sun was up, beaming in through their open window. My mom always wore long, soft and silky nightgowns; this morning was no exception. But what made her exceptional was that anyone could read the humor on her face as we placed the plates and cups in her hands. She balanced the plate awkwardly and took a taste, smiled and proclaimed how delicious the food was. We beamed at a job well done, then began to notice that we were also a bit hungry.

I began to wonder how long we were going to have to stand there and watch her eat before we could retreat to the dining room where our own delicious breakfasts were rapidly congealing and cooling. But that would leave the celebrant all alone, we couldn’t do that. It would be rude. An awkward silence followed while my mom’s fork clinked and her teeth chewing her toast, her eggs. I rocked on my heels, watching. She beckoned us to go enjoy our breakfasts, but we were steadfast. Secretly, again, I wondered WHEN we were going to get to eat?! It took a long time to make breakfast and I was hungry!

Baby Jude & his Mimi

My mom was, perhaps, three bites into her food when she suggested that we ALL go downstairs and eat together. We scurried out of there so fast that by the time my parents made it downstairs we were seated at the table and well into our eggs. My mom was good natured though, and I remember she spent the rest of the day in the garden. Every time I would see her I would tell her to go and relax, take a load off, sit down… I didn’t yet understand the catharsis of dirt and green things growing.

It’s a full circle now. My little one, Jude, is four. Just about the same age I was when we made that breakfast for my mom. I’ve overheard Gigi whispering furiously to Bradley about my Mother’s Day breakfast in bed, my spa day, my massage WITH LOTION that I am to receive on the back patio, but mostly about breakfast in bed.

Young Bradley with his family

I can’t wait for that magical moment to arrive when I, too, look radiant in the morning as the sun hits me, just a brush through my hair and a freshly washed face to hint that I may have known something was up. When I, just like my mom, will laugh and suggest that we all go downstairs to eat together. And later I’ll thank that lovely man who facilitated the whole event, down to the butter on my English muffin, just like I’m sure she did, with a kiss.
My parents and me, 2011
Happy Mother’s Day to all of the moms out there, and a thanks to the daddies and babies that made something special happen.


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