Gilles and I celebrated our first year of marriage today! We had planned on celebrating by going to a nice little restaurant on the beach for brunch, but if you know us, you’ll suspect that didn’t happen.
We are the people who vacation at friends’ houses and end up cooking for them the whole week. Not always to their approval, either (an under-ripe persimmon incident comes to mind).
I am the person (Gilles is not to blame for this one) who made friends help me make ravioli from scratch for our dinner when they were starving and exhausted.
We are the people who cooked duck with fig confit to celebrate our engagement instead of going to a nice restaurant like normal people.
Some weekend mornings are for heaping plates of French Toast or Pancakes with capital letters and accompanied by large mugs of coffee and frothed milk. If you’re us, that’s actually most weekend mornings. Occasionally on a Saturday, one wakes up and does not think, ‘I’d really like to gorge myself on bread products.’ For those Saturdays, one still wishes for alternatives to the weekday oatmeal ritual.
Luckily, last night, I noticed that the rhubarb we bought at the market last week was really losing it… I’m talking final death throes. Gilles was nice enough to prepare the rhubarb last night and begin cooking it, so when I woke this morning wanting not pancakes and not oatmeal, there was some rhubarb on the stove, nearly ready to go. A few more minutes cooking and a dollop of yogurt later, breakfast was served!
Happy Mother’s Day!
Do all kids make breakfast for their moms on Mother’s Day? I think they should. Every year, I served my mom scrambled eggs, since that was the only dish I knew how to make. Also, every year my dad and I would go to the florist to buy her a bouquet and (for some reason) a mug that would say something like “World’s Best Mom” or “Love you, Mother” I believe my mom has since “lost” many of these gifts (I would have, too), but if you search her cupboards, you can still find a number of ceramic cups extolling her virtues as a parent, not that they’re wrong.
Mom, you are probably the most generous, and at the same time strongest, people I know; I think this is a rare combination of virtues. I admire that you live out these virtues through your actions, as you are not one for hyperbole (understatement of the year!). Among the many gifts you’ve given me is my love of the beach, and a fair dose of bravery in the cold Pacific Ocean. I remember swimming out beyond the surf zone with you, feeling at once terrified by our distance from the shore, and reassured by your huge smile and joy of treading a little puddle worth of the largest body of water in the world. I wish we lived in the same town so I could make you a nice breakfast.