Another Mother’s Day came and went! Probably one of the most memorable days of the year for families with young children. It is the day when Mother gets to stay in bed and they get to take charge of treating her to breakfast in bed.

How many of us remember lying in bed listening to the commotion in the kitchen. It was so hard to stay there when you could hear all the clatter of china and the excited voices of the children, determined to make this a special treat.

In their very young days breakfast would be composed of toast and jam. Usually the idea being that the more jam, the better. My daughters were very close in age, the eldest just twelve months older than the next then a two year gap followed by twins. Yes, very clumsy, but all the diapers and baby needs were concentrated into a few hard years and none of them were ever lost for a playmate.

The one year difference made the oldest daughter always “in charge” and the other three accepted this, sometimes reluctantly. So breakfast was usually under her direction. Dad usually kept out of the way and left them to it, so miss bossy would rule the roost and the other three would follow directions, with many discussions of who could carry certain things.

Luckily for their earlier years, the master bedroom was on the main floor so there were no stairs to negotiate, always a disaster waiting to happen when a wobbly tray, china and a flower vase were involved.

The smell of slightly burnt toast would float down the hallway as I lay there, waiting for my special treat. The rattle of the china and the excited whispering as they negotiated the hallway and through the bedroom door, then the yell of “surprise”, the four little faces beaming with joy of their accomplishment and the actions of my pillows being arranged, so I could sit and enjoy this yearly treat.

What mom isn’t truly delighted when the tray is lovingly placed on her knee, the kids all clamber onto the bed and the home made cards are given. Much oohing and aahing over the half jar of jam, sliding off the toast, the small vase containing a couple of dandelions and the milky tea slopping into the saucer can only be bettered by the excited faces grinning at you. The next sticky half hour is spent with everyone on the bed, sharing the toast and reading the hand drawn cards.

Never mind that the sheets have jam stains and goodness knows what awaits you in the kitchen, this is your day and your children are so thrilled to have prepared the feast.

As the kids got older, the menu would progress from toast and jam to pancakes, to scrambled eggs and then to creative omelettes. The dandelions would be replaced by a classier flower, the tea was replaced by orange juice and coffee and the toast would be perfectly buttered and cut. However, the enthusiasm of the faces grinning with delight would be replaced by the look of a duty well performed. There was no climbing into bed as the girls went to clean the kitchen and then get on with their day.

Eventually, Mother’s Day breakfast would be held at a local restaurant, someone would always be in a hurry to leave and meet friends and, as the years went by, the breakfasts were replaced by a phone call and an expensive card sent by mail.

Do they love me any less, of course not but they had grown into young women and, eventually into mothers with their own breakfasts in bed. Do I miss the early days, no, but I am so glad I have the memories to warm my heart.

How quickly the years slip by. I remember old ladies telling me that this was the best time of my life, as I struggled with four young children, two in a stroller, one holding on to my leg and one trying to escape. Several bags of groceries piled around the two in the stroller and the negotiating of the local bus with my brood and assorted clutter. However, looking back, they were great years. I learned to cope with it all and the experience gave me the ability to cope with almost anything that comes my way.

Would I like to go back to those early years? Noooo, however, having the memories tucked away is an experience I would not have missed for the world.