Morning Routines
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Moms Show Love Through a Million Small Gestures, Too
By Mia Chen | July 21, 2022
Although none of us are natural early risers, mornings are a treasured time for our family of three. Usually, our days are packed with work and school, dance classes and playdates, and a plethora of activities that enrich our lives. Yet, amidst all the busyness, we often find a lack of togetherness. That’s why we cherish our mornings. My son leaps into our room anytime between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m., if we’re fortunate enough, and hops into our bed, announcing, “Lights off!” as soon as he lands. (Sometimes the “light” is just the sun, which we can’t dim, no matter how hard we try.) We enjoy reading a few chapters of a book together. We take turns getting ready, analyze dreams, set essential daily goals (“Ice cream sandwiches after dinner?”), and indulge in plenty of cuddling. With both my partner and I working from home and my schedule being fairly flexible, we truly appreciate these slower mornings.
Eventually, we all head downstairs for coffee and breakfast. Interestingly, even though our mornings aren’t typically rushed, our breakfasts are often quite basic: peanut butter toast, frozen waffles, or a banana muffin I made the night before. I frequently skip breakfast for a large cup of coffee (I know! Dietitians would disapprove!), but I enjoy sitting with my son as he eats. He swings his legs while munching on his breakfast, scattering crumbs like breadcrumbs in a forest. We listen to music, although I’m a bit annoyed that I never get to choose from my playlist. I know this morning ritual will change, especially as he gets older, but for now, I savor every ordinary moment.
My childhood mornings were quite different. For many years, my mother worked a job she despised and understandably brought that stress home. She would wake around 5 a.m., while I was still fast asleep, dress, and apply her makeup before the dawn broke, then head to the office by 6 a.m. She didn’t enjoy the way that job disrupted her sleep cycle and often regretted not being there to see me off to school, though she was always there to pick me up. My stepfather would take me to school, but aside from the brief fifteen minutes in his truck, we didn’t have much interaction in the mornings or at any other time.
From the age of nine or ten, I learned to be independent. I set my own alarm, knowing that if I didn’t wake up on time, no one would drag me out of bed, and I would miss school (and incur Mom’s wrath). I dressed, packed my backpack, and then sat on the couch by the door, reading until my stepfather jingled his keys, signaling it was time to go. Those early morning lessons continued to benefit me throughout college and graduate school when I had to pull myself out of bed, battling hangovers, and realizing I was solely responsible for my own choices.
Yet, despite all the skills I developed for myself, I never had to make my own breakfast. Every morning, my mom would leave a cellophane-wrapped egg sandwich on our formica counter. She’d use a fresh bakery roll, layering it with egg and Canadian bacon, both cooked in an old pan. (Never cheese, because I was — and still am, albeit reluctantly — lactose intolerant.) The cellophane would trap the heat from the sandwich, keeping it deliciously soft without becoming soggy and ensuring I stayed full until lunchtime. When I finally made my way to the kitchen in the mornings, the sandwich would have cooled, but I could still taste the warmth at its center. I ate at our yellow table, propping a book in front of me and inhaling the aromas of buttery eggs and savory pork, as if my mom were cooking right beside me. She never left notes with those sandwiches, but the message was unmistakable: I’m thinking of you.
My mom often expresses regret about my childhood, wishing she could have been more present. It’s true she wasn’t the kind of mom who volunteered at the PTO, arranged playdates, or took me to the park or the beach. To be honest, there were times I resented my loneliness, wandering around our quiet house and missing her deeply, even when she was just a room away. But now, as an adult and a parent, I recognize all she did provide. It wasn’t just the gift of self-sufficiency, but also the understanding that a parent doesn’t have to be present in the same room, peering at you over the breakfast table, to be thinking of you. Love manifests in countless ways — some of which we may never fully grasp as children: egg sandwiches left on counters, a load of laundry on the bed, a note tucked into a lunchbox, a meme sent to your phone, or a blown kiss through the crack in your bedroom door at dawn before your eyes even flutter open.
Recently, she visited my home, bringing with her a suitcase filled with frozen soft-shell crab, mangoes from her tree, and airline crackers she thought my son would enjoy. For my mom, acts of service have always been her love language — specifically, sharing food. Although she now works regular hours, she still wakes up early, a habit from those years at a job she left behind. So, when I stumbled downstairs during her visit, groggily making my way to start the French press, I was greeted by a familiar scent: frying eggs. Even on vacation, she couldn’t resist making breakfast for me. In that moment, I could vividly picture a younger version of Mom with her hair perfectly styled, makeup done, standing barefoot by the stove, flipping an egg in a skillet. She would sacrifice those precious fifteen minutes of sleep just to ensure I was nourished, even if she couldn’t be there to witness it.
Mornings will look different for every family, and they may change over the years. I cherish our relaxed mornings, but I also understand that it’s not the only way to show love. Perhaps one day I’ll kiss my son on the cheek as he hops into his own car, granola bar in hand, rushing off to meet his friends before school. Or maybe I’ll leave him an egg sandwich wrapped in cellophane, trusting that he knows I’m doing my best.
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In summary, love can often be found in the simple, everyday moments of life — whether it’s a homemade breakfast or a quiet moment shared. Each family has its own unique morning rituals that can adapt over time, often reflecting the love and care that parents provide in countless ways.