For mother's day, I gave my own a phone call seeing as how she lives on the other coast and taking her out to brunch was not possible. Big Red and I had hoped to have his mother over for some grilled t-bone steaks, but she was content to work in the yard. It was, in fact, a beautiful Sunday - the sun shining brightly after many, many, many, many days of rain, rain, rain and more rain.
We were out in the yard standing under one of our oak trees, Olive was running like a lunatic, soaking up the sunshine and rolling in the grass clippings. I asked Big Red if he wanted to scrub our fancy-schmancy grilling plans and opt for something else. Big Red is a man of few words. Of the profound and romantic persuasion, even fewer. And then, he said this:
No, let's have steaks. It's mother's day and we should celebrate, you know, for the someday mothers to be.
How I love this man so.