It’s Mother’s Day, and I’ve just returned from a two-day road trip to places I’ve not been, visiting with people I’ve only just met, with one daughter at my side.
A gathering of family on Mother’s Day brought my other daughter to my side accompanied by her man. Along with them came my husband, and we all celebrated his mother by eating food she had prepared for us on the day she should have rested, and received.
The berries for our dessert had been left behind, so we joyfully ate cake with whipped topping and drank our tea.
Tonight in my own kitchen, as I finish cleaning the berries previously selected for today’s dessert, I close my eyes and remember the slice of homemade pound cake with orange glaze. I pretend to spoon my just-prepared berries over the cake, lift a full bite to my mouth, and enjoy the sweet goodness of Mother’s Day.
Thank you, God, for my own mother who helped me learn to prepare food, for my mother-in-law who prepared our food today, for my two daughters who are standing on their own as they continue to prepare food leaps and bounds over my historical 20-something capacity. Thank you, God, for the sweet goodness of Mother’s Day.
So incredibly sweet and good.