On Sunday we will honor and celebrate the momness of all our Mom’s. Kids from afar will have bouquets of baby’s breath, red roses, pink carnations, and white lilies delivered. Families will sit themselves down for brunch to tables in restaurants with lengthy waiting lists. Hand-made and store bought cards expressing thanks will be unlocked from mailboxes and delivered by hand.
I can do all this too. However, being the writer of a site read all around the world I can do even more.
With today’s post let me introduce all of you to my mom. She is the bringer of all the foods that heal — apple juice for the flu, french onion soup for dental surgery, a bowl of gumbo kept warm in an insulated lunch bag with a bottle of beer tucked into the side pocket for late nights spent worrying over a sick puppy, and red wine for always. She has been there through every Harry Potter movie and every episode of Gilmore Girls. I don’t recognize the me she sees through her camera. She is the photographer I can never be as good as. Even when I use her backyard and her dishes.
Early last Sunday morning, I poured a cup of freshly ground coffee and ate a slice of this Honey Bee Cake from Vintage Cakes just for you, Mom. I seated myself on the dock by the pond watching the koi flicking their tails and Benny chewing on a large branch while tied to the “Joseph” tree. While dreaming of the day your neighbors and their unceasingly barking dog no longer live next door I enjoyed the peace created by you (and Dad).
Mom, while eating the last of the buttery honey infused crumbs that I actually made for me and took to Grandma for her birthday I honored you. Because you, Mom, were the cook and the baker I had to be as good as. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! See you Sunday.