The Weetabix was soggy (from sitting around for too long) and the tea was luke warm (likewise). I can’t remember if there was bread/toast. Never mind. On the tray was a small vase of lilies-of-the-valley (the previous evening I might accidentally on purpose have picked some in the garden and left in the kitchen…), and an apple. Which looked quite nice, in a styled tray kind of way. There was even a present or two, which I might have carried there in my suitcase, eyes carefully averted.
It was 1998 and I was spending a couple of weeks with Offspring in the late Mother-of-witch’s house to sort things out. And it was my birthday.
I’d managed to sleep ‘late’ while listening to noises from the kitchen, where Son and Daughter (aged nine and five) made my breakfast and actually co-operated. Then there was a sound as if someone dragged a tray along the hall floor, until my door was flung open and the tray lifted by two small people and placed on my lap in bed.
It was lovely! All of it.
I mean, I hate breakfast in bed, but this was so sweet and so loving and they managed so well, and I’m really grateful there was never a repeat of this perfect moment in my life. It’s a memory to treasure for life.
There have been other breakfast/birthday offerings in recent years, but not even the American style blueberry pancakes could beat the tray with the Granny Smith apple.