Breakfast in Bed by Begin Again |
"Mom, are you sick?" My oldest daughter demanded to know. Her pretty face wore a scowl. "Good morning to you, too." I rolled over in bed, shoving several pillows under my head. "What made you ask if I was sick?" "Dad said we're making you breakfast in bed. Dad doesn't ever make breakfast or let us eat in bed." I could tell her mind was percolating, and it wasn't making coffee. "Maybe I should have asked him if he was sick? Yeah, it's probably him." I laughed. Wendy was right. The last time their Dad cooked for me (and I was sick), he made a fried egg in the same pan he'd used to warm up sausage and marinara sauce. Ever had pink eggs? If you weren't sick, you certainly would be after looking at them. Thanks, but no thanks. I'll pass. "Maybe he's nice because it's Mother's Day," I suggested. "Oh, yeah, Happy Mother's Day. I made a card for you but left it in my desk at school." "Thank you. You can give it to me tomorrow." I could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Breakfast was about to be served. Edible or not would be determined later. My husband walked in carrying a steamy mug of coffee. He set it down on the nightstand, offered a quick peck on my forehead, and said, "Happy Mother's Day." I smiled, "Where's Mikey and Corrie?" "Outside the door with your breakfast." "Mikey has my breakfast. What is it? A donut? Or a burnt piece of toast?" "Not exactly. He insisted on making it himself." The look on his face told me this was not going to be what I had expected, but then maybe it was precisely what I had expected. "Mikey, are you out there? Mommy's really hungry." "Dad, is Mommy ready?" His little four-year-old voice was too darn cute. "She's ready, Mikey." My husband's voice told me something wasn't quite right. Everyone moved, so Mikey had a clear shot to the side of the bed. I prepared myself, but honestly, I wasn't prepared. My blonde-haired cherub adorned with his ever-present cowboy hat marched toward me like a gorgeous proud peacock. His grin went from ear to ear. He was carrying a bowl. Corrie, his little sister, followed behind with something wrapped inside a napkin. Was it cereal? My first thought was how much milk was spilled on the way up the stairs. I wasn't in suspense for long. "Happy Mother's Day, Mommy." I smiled as he thrust the bowl at me. My stomach did a major somersault as gooey egg white oozed over the side. Inside the bowl were two raw eggs plus miscellaneous bits of eggshells. "Give Mommy your present, Corrie." Mike gave his sister a little push. She handed me a napkin. With my smile plastered in place, I accepted it. Gingerly, unfolding the gift, I discovered the blue napkin stuck to a slice of peanut butter and jelly toast. Oh, boy! "Well, aren't you guys special this morning. Thank you very much." I kissed my adorable babies. They'd tried! "You gonna eat it, Mommy?" I looked at Mikey's infectious smile and sparkling eyes. There was no way I could break his heart, but I couldn't possibly eat raw eggs either. My husband stood there, obviously waiting for me to solve the problem. "Sorry. He was so excited. I couldn't tell him no." I wanted to smash the eggs in my husband's face. He hadn't wanted to break his son's heart, so he left it to me. Thankfully, I thought of a way out. "Mikey, Mommy's going to save your breakfast for now. Remember the restaurant with the kid's playhouse and jungle gym? Well, Daddy's taking all of us out for breakfast, and you can play there for hours. Doesn't that sound like fun?" I smiled sweetly at my husband and climbed out of bed. "Daddy will help you get dressed while Mommy gets ready, too." I strolled past my husband and whispered, "Sounds like a plan." His smile was gone, but he answered, "Sounds like a plan." I laughed as I left the bedroom, "I thought so. Happy Mother's Day to me."
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Begin Again
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