Little scurrying sounds rise up the stairs from the kitchen. Moments later: “Mom, I have your breakfast!”
With Daddy gone on a two-month business trip, Maggie not participating (Maggie shows her love perfectly in her own time, her own way, and on her own days, uninterested in manufactured holidays), and Minna too young to know better, Moira has taken the responsibility of ensuring a good Mother’s Day upon her shoulders. I can tell she’s feeling the responsibility, though I would never have pressured her to deliver. She has delivered breakfast in bed: an Eggo waffle, which she toasted herself after climbing onto the counter to plug in the toaster; a bowl of dry Rice Krispies, because “I was afraid the milk would slosh out” and she didn’t want to make a mess; and a baby yogurt.
I tell her that it’s a beautiful spread, and that while I’m not fond of yogurt, that’s a good thing because I would love it if she would share breakfast with me. Moira happily accepts. We talk about the cereal, and she decides to run downstairs to put milk in a coffee mug to pour over the cereal. She comes back with her own bowl and a mug of milk.
Between homeschool co-op and her preschool, she has made complimentary gifts: earrings at one, and a little clay pinch-bowl (painted her signature pink) at the other. The earrings are in a plastic clamshell container that once held blackberries, and has been decorated with glue, beads, and construction paper. I accept the gifts with real joy. Moira has worked very hard indeed.
“Oh! Are you thirsty, Mom?” I tell her a drink would be nice–perhaps some ice water? I suggest this knowing that this is the simplest drink for her to manage alone, since there’s a dispenser in the fridge. “Oh, of course!”
She returns with ice water in a flowered coffee mug. “I chose the fanciest mug because it’s your special day.” Moira pauses, and then with wide, unsure eyes, she shatters my heart. “Am I doing this right?”
I set my divine feast aside on my nightstand and pull her into my lap to hold her and her tender, thoughtful heart. She has moved me to tears. “Yes, my darling. Everything is absolutely perfect. I feel like a queen. And I love you.”
It is perfect, and I do feel like a queen. It’s a Mother’s Day I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
She exhales in relief, and we finish our cereal together.