The Young and the Restless

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....