Reading a book set in London in the 1920's in which there was a reference to 'warm milk sops'. I almost kept on reading without it registering a "Wait. What is that?" response in my mind. "Wasn't there something Mom gave us when we were ill, something like that?" It finally came to me, she called it 'milk toast'. It was simply a slice of buttered toast with warm milk poured over it. And it was served mainly when we were ill, either with a sore throat, which I had often, or an upset tummy when nothing else seemed palatable. Once in a great while it was a simple Sunday night supper.
My siblings and I were the most fortunate kids ever because we had the best Mom ever. And we were raised in the best of times, when mothers 'didn't work' (even though they worked harder and longer hours than those who had 'careers' outside the home) and were always there when we got home from school. That is when she taught us different lessons just as important as our book learning. Like doing chores - responsibility; helping neighbors - kindness; listening to and minding our grandparents - respect.
And perhaps the most important, taking responsibility for our own actions - listening to our internal voice that told us right from wrong. My mother was my best friend. She let me make mistakes because I learned from them. She was my shoulder to cry on, never trying to fix things for me, but being there to listen as I reasoned things out for myself.
My children tell me I'm the best mother ever but I know that's not true because I had the best Mom ever and I'm not anywhere near the woman she was.
I love and miss you Mom. Happy Mother's Day. 💞
(Mom is pictured with the flowers I gave her for a Mother's Day in the early 90's. I wish like everything now that I'd had another picture taken of me standing with her.)
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