Author’s Note: I wrote this column a couple of years ago; I can still see the boys’ faces as they concentrated on making Mommy’s special breakfast. I again share this memory with you and hope you had a lovely Mother’s Day.

I remember a very special Mother’s Day many years ago. My boys, ranging in age from 4 to 11 years, informed Bud (their step-dad) that they were going to serve me breakfast in bed and they were going to do all the fixin’ by themselves, didn’t need any help.

Paul and Matt fluffed my pillows and straightened the comforter while George started the feast with help from 4-year old Joe (Bud lurked on the sidelines keeping the peace and making sure there were no accidents). I could hear loud whispers coming from the kitchen as my future chefs were preparing this culinary delight:

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“Noooo, Mom likes her toast dark!”

“Yeah, she does! Push the toast down again!”

I could smell the toast but my favorite just-brewed coffee aroma hadn’t yet reached me—I assumed that would come soon.

About 15 minutes later, Paul raced into the bedroom:

“Get ready Mommy, breakfast is served!”

There they stood flushed and grinning: George, flanked by Paul and Matt holding cards, was hanging on to the tray for dear life, and Joe stood clutching a small vase with a few droopy dandelions (Bud hovered in the hall). My heart was bursting with love and pride for my kids as they carefully laid the tray on my lap. I clasped my hands in delight: “This is a breakfast fit for a queen!”

On a pretty placemat sat a small glass of orange juice, an egg (still in the shell) in a mug, a slice of charcoal-broiled buttered toast and a cup of foamy coffee. I drank the juice, and while cracking the egg watched the raw yolk plop into the mug. Oh mercy, this I wouldn’t be able to eat. I nibbled on the hard, cold slice of toast and took a couple of sips of tepid coffee.

Four expectant faces gazed at me: “Do you like your breakfast? You’re not eating the egg.”

“Oh boys, no one else could have made such a perfect breakfast. I’m afraid I filled up on the juice, toast and coffee and don’t have room for the egg. This was the best breakfast I ever had!”  Up on the bed they jumped and while I hugged them, they happily gave me the cards they’d made.

That evening after the boys had gone to bed, Bud described the activity in the kitchen that morning:

“I kept my mouth shut, didn’t make any suggestions. They wanted to do this by themselves. The juice was no problem; however the egg was a different story. They placed it in the mug and then filled it with hot water from the tap to “cook” it, and the reason you didn’t smell your favorite coffee aroma was because it was instant and warmed again by hot tap water. The toast was pushed down three times before George decided it was dark enough for you.”

I softly smiled. What a beautiful and treasured Mother’s Day gift from my young men—a “forever” gift that keeps on giving!