Some days there was a line but we didn’t care. She would have a half-order of pecan pancakes and I would have silver dollar pancakes or a mushroom and cheddar omelet. The home fries were always the same – perfect – deliciously crispy and smothered in greasy oil and minced onions.
We would sit for an hour, despite the fact that the breakfast would arrive quickly and we’d eat even quicker. We’d chat like old friends, gossiping about school pals and relationships. After brunch we’d head out for a little shopping, just the two of us. Mother and Daughter. We practiced this ritual for years. To this day we still head out the Waffle Shop, whenever I get home for a visit. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, for more than one reason.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew she was the mother and that I needed to listen to her, that was inherently clear. Not that I never misbehaved, I can assure you I caused both my parents a fair share of strife. And even through all our trials my mother never backed down or gave up on me, no matter how much she may have wanted to.
Oftentimes mothers see their children as children. Small people who would rather play with Barbies and Legos then spend time bonding with their mothers over breakfast. There are many lessons and rituals I will take from both my parents when learning how to be a better parent myself but one thing I will surely do is take my children to breakfast, one on one. There’s a lot to be said for home fries and omelets.
Mom and I, circa 1987. How cool is she with the side pony and the aviator glasses. How uncool was I with the Elvis Presley haircut and “mom-jean” height shorts.
Mom and I out to dinner this past April on my visit home. She is still as gorgeous as she was in 1987.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom and thanks for all the omelets.