True Story: A Real Mother's Day Breakfast
Why have plain old breakfast in bed when you can have breakfast in bed with your rambunctious toddlers instead?
Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. And this year it had me thinking about breakfast.
What is it about this holiday and breakfast or brunch that seems to go together so well? We moms must really like us some breakfast.
Maybe it’s because we so rarely get to sit down and enjoy a nice balanced breakfast. Mother’s Day is an extra special day where you are much more likely to get one, preferably cooked by someone else.
This year, I was treated to the ultimate in Mother’s Day celebrations – sleeping in and breakfast in bed.
It made me think fondly of the many times my father would help my brothers and me in making breakfast in bed for our mom. I loved finding that bed tray that probably only got used one time a year and laying everything out.
We would pluck some flowers and put them in a tiny vase, sign and seal our cards, and make sure we remembered even the little details like salt and pepper for the eggs, some jelly for the toast, a napkin, the Sunday paper.
It was with nostalgia that I realized I had now come full-circle. The tables were turned and I was now the mom being treated to breakfast in bed.
I heard the stomping and patters of little feet climbing the stairs before they all burst into the room, Lily proudly shouting, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!” and Jack repeating his dreamy coos of “Mama! Mama!” with arms outstretched until I scooped him up into bed with me.
It was not long before the monkeys were jumping on the bed and giggling while I tried to keep the tray upright. My husband had thoughtfully put my juice in one of the kid’s sippy cups “so you don’t spill it.” Good foresight on that one.
I settled in to relax and enjoy this one special day a year where I could possibly get a pass on not lifting a finger, or changing a diaper.
But first, while luxuriating in the spectacular novelty of my own Mother's Day breakfast in bed, it became clear this would not be a peaceful or relaxing start to the day.
Instead, the kids wanted to stay in bed with me while I ate.
Before long, there were crumbs on the sheets and butter in Jack’s hair. I think someone scarfed my bacon. But really, I didn’t mind. This is my life, why should Mother’s Day be any different?
The most important part was that there was love and laughter in that room.
I enjoyed my nice Mother’s Day breakfast with a game of hide-and-seek going on under the blankets at my feet. There was lots of jumping and wiggling on their part and a few frantic dives to save Jack from tumbling off the bed on my part, all while keeping one hand on my iced coffee.
Did I mention my dog was in bed as well, surely hoping for an errant breakfast morsel to be tossed her way?
The scene gives renewed meaning to “Family Circus,” as I envisioned myself the matriarch of the family so much like the one in that classic comic strip with little ones bouncing about with boundless energy.
The scene may have been different from the breakfasts in my wildest Mother's Day fantasy where I wake up fresh-faced with sunshine streaming in through open windows, and the sound of waves rolling onto the sand. (I told you it was a fantasy, we don't live near the beach either.)
Why have just plain old breakfast in bed when you can have breakfast in bed with your kids?
As long as someone else makes me the breakfast, and I can get away for some of that peace and relaxation later, I’m game.