It was early morning, just past 9:00. You were still asleep in bed as you tried to get some rest. At least that was until you caught a whiff of something, the smell of burnt food. You immediately sat up in bed but before you could get up out of bed, the bedroom door opened, and in walked your husband, Phillip, your 2 1/2-year-old son, and in Phillip’s arms was your 4-month-old daughter. Your son was the one carrying a small tray of what appeared to be your breakfast. On the tray was a single pancake which was horribly burnt, a small gift box, and a large bouquet of roses. Both Phillip and your son had matching smiles on their faces as you looked at your breakfast, though Phillip seemed more apologetic.

“Happy Mother’s Day, darlin’. We tried to make breakfast for you, but you know I’m not a great chef, so I thought a gift and roses would be better.” He laughed, pressing a kiss on your lips.