Little Things

“Good morning, glory.” Mom sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee before her, fully dressed for the day. Even if it was something as simple as a morning greeting, she found a way to make it better.

“Morning, Mom.” I always felt better near her, even if I wasn’t able to articulate it.

“Would you like some eggs, or would you prefer pancakes?”

My young palate always sought out both extremes, either salt or sweet. This morning, maple syrup won out. “You’d make pancakes just for me?”

“I haven’t eaten, either.”

“Where’s everybody else?” I couldn’t believe my luck.

“Terri and Judy are at Katie’s, Dad’s out on an errand, and Bob’s sleeping in. Come on, you can help.”

Thirty minutes later, I shoveled the last buttery lump of maple-soaked goodness into my mouth. “Thanks, Mom. That was great.”

She flashed a smile that still warms my heart whenever I think of it. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

Mom never stopped amazing me with her little things. One day, a suggestion from her spurred Dad to make a bookshelf to hang over the head of my bed. Another time, she wanted to go out for a “piece of pie,” after her weekly card game/conversation fest with my grandparents, and I was invited to tag along. The things she did were never big, but she always found ways that showed her love in deeds, rather than words.

Of course, moms the world over do the things that come naturally from a mother’s heart, and they do them out of love.

The other day, Sandi got up with me before the boys woke. I worked in the kitchen while she sat at her computer as Ian came down the stairs.

Sandi raised her face and smiled at him. “Good morning, glory.”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.