It Takes A Mother

It Takes A Mother

I’m the happy product of the baby-boomer generation that afforded me a dad who worked long hours at his job and mom who worked longer hours at home.  My mother’s parenting began in the early morning hours, as she put together my three course breakfast before tiptoeing into my room to wake me.  For those of you born too late to be privy to 1950’s breakfast delights—here’s a sample:  fresh squeezed orange juice, or a grapefruit half, scrambled eggs, cold sugary cereal with whole milk and buttered toast with raspberry jam.  And that was only school-days fare—on weekends she served up multi-course feasts.

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