Food for thought
The sun was streaming in through the open windows. Christmas music was playing in the background as the boys prayed over their bowls of cold cereal and I busied myself in the kitchen making baked french toast for our Sunday morning brunch. And in that moment I felt all sorts of grown up. Like this is what moms do. Like this is the kind of mom I always wanted to be. I love the memories I have of my mom in her apron, kneading dough for homemade bread, preparing the roast for Sunday dinner, baking cinnamon rolls while staying with us after I had a baby. And she will always own the peach cobbler. I just wonder what memories my kids will have of me. Undoubtedly they'll remember that sometimes I fart during family prayers, or that I eat their candy and blame it on Ryder, or that I like to pinch their little bums if they're walking up the stairs in front of me, or that I like to sing loud and off pitch to every song on the radio, or that I put on sweats and pull back my bangs every day at 5:00 pm. But, among other things, I also hope they'll remember me in the kitchen. I hope years from now they'll crave my dinner rolls. I hope my chocolate chip cookies are the best they've ever had. I hope just one bite of a cinnamon roll will bring back a flood of Christmas morning memories. There is such a sense of satisfaction that comes with filling (not to be confused with feeling) the bellies of those I love. And that's it for today's deep thoughts. But mostly I just liked this picture and felt the need to write something poetic to go with it. But really I did have those thoughts. And now I'm done. Except for this one last thing, because really....
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