1m2aSandbox

On Sunday morning, my plan was to sleep until I absolutely had to wake up, jump in the shower and get ready for church. I’d heard Brian get up a bit earlier and was snuggled down under the covers, half-asleep and enjoying the fact that it was almost 8 a.m. and I was still in bed.

At which point I felt a tap on my shoulder and opened one eye to see my husband looking at me sympathetically. “I’m so sorry to wake you before your alarm, but this is just too darn cute so you need to roll over to see it.”

I obligingly rolled over and opened the other eye, and there was my five-year-old with a huge grin on her face, holding a breakfast tray.

“I made you breakfast, Mommy! Did I guess right what you’d want?” she shrieked.

I looked at the tray. There was a toasted English muffin, a small glass of juice, and a napkin.

Substitute “smoothie” for “juice” and it’s exactly what I fix myself every day.

And never thought the girls noticed.

Brian told me that when he came downstairs that morning, Cora was standing on a stool happily humming while she got down a plate and cup. She’d planned the breakfast herself and done the whole thing on her own.

Cora laid the tray gingerly on the side of the bed, then scampered happily into my arms. “Are you surprised? Is it just what you wanted?” she wriggled happily.

I crushed her to me. “This is EXACTLY what I wanted, baby. But how on earth did you come up with the idea to bring me breakfast in bed?”

(Yes, I know, breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day seems like such a cliché, but honestly, the whole idea of breakfast in bed has never come up in our household, so I was genuinely interested.)

Cora smiled at me. “I read it in a book last week and thought, ‘What a great idea!’ And so I wanted to do it myself!” And she snuggled happily back into my arms.

And that, my friends, was the best start to any day I could ask for.