It’s mother’s day. In the kitchen, Daddy watches an egg sizzle. Don’t break the yolk. Libby butters a fork-cut everything bagel. Down the chain of command, Sarah and I fill the painted metal tray with a precariously full glass of orange juice (with pulp), bowl of rice krispies, mini pitcher of milk, and tiny sugar bowl. With Libby’s carefully crafted card (signed by us all) displayed, we tiptoe to the bedroom. Don’t drop the tray. Mommy shifts sleepy-eyed in bed, coos as she eats some of everything, and offers strips of bacon to her three smiling daughters...such a mother.
