Mother's Day 2015

I woke up early this morning, and realized it was Mother’s Day. I text my mama and asked if she would like me to cook her breakfast. Before I could set the phone down, there was a “yes please” reply. My wife sleeps in, and then takes an hour drinking coffee before she eats, so I left her to do her own thing.

I dug out a pack of good old Hansard Farms sausage from the back freezer, jumped on the golf cart, and headed up the dirt road. The morning was beautiful. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the east, the sun was steadily rising in the sky, and I was chasing squirrels that happened to be in the road just daring me to run them down with my golf cart. Needless to say, I didn’t hit any squirrels because those little buggers are fast.

I went in the house, even at my age it is still home, and I rarely ever knock. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen like they were waiting on me. I know the anticipation wasn’t really directed at me, they were waiting on the sausage. Yes, it’s that good.

I went straight to work, slicing and frying, butter spreading, and breaking eggs. No, I didn’t bring any eggs. I used theirs. I’m a lousy son. I get it, but they don’t care.

Dad peaks over my shoulder inspecting my work, and I’m sure he just wanted to know when the sausage was going done. Determining that I ain’t quick enough on putting the heat into the meat, he gave up, “I’m going in here to read, call me when it’s ready.”

Mama just sat patiently at the table doodling with her iPad. I guess she got done and decided she was going to help me. I fussed at her and told her to sit down. “How’s this special if you have to work,” I asked.

She sneered and replied under her breath, “I’ve had to work my whole life, why is today any different?” I let that go because today is Mother’s Day and all.

I finished beating the eggs into submission, crisping the bread up like a brick just the way they like it, and fished the sausage out of the grease. I managed to serve the eggs and toast on the plates before my father stampeded to his seat and reached for the sausage.

We blessed the food in our own way, and sat quietly eating.

“I don’t know what you did different this time, but I think this is the best pig yet,” Mama said as she plopped another piece of meat candy in her mouth. Dad stopped chewing long enough to agree.

“Yep, you could be right,” I said just before swigging down some Red Rock Ginger Ale.

I am lucky to be blessed with such good parents, and it’s the small things that make life worth living. Happy Mother’s Day!