Before Dinner

Starting dinner on my first Mother’s Day, is bittersweet, it is my first Mother’s Day as a mom and that is a blessing, however, it is tainted with the reality that it is our families first Mother’s Day without Mom. So, I invited, my father, my brother and their families, over to celebrate Mom with her favorite dinner, Chicken Parmesan. My mom was the homemakers of homemakers, all she ever wanted was to make a safe and happy home for her family and raise good and strong human beings. My brothers and I personally think she did a tremendous job.

             I can hear my nine-month-old little girl, Allie, cooing loudly at her father, who is in the nursery with her. In the distance nearly drowned out behind the music I’m playing in the kitchen I hear my husband, Landon, saying “Pick-a-boo, I see you.” I smile happy that my loves are content playing while I begin prepping dinner.

              I allow my self to remember my childhood and learning how to prepare this meal, I’ve made so many times in my twenty-five years of life. I’ve never made it quite up to my mothers’ expertise but it’s close, so my brothers tell me.

When we were young dinner time was sacred to my parents, we nearly always sat down at the dinner table, all five of us, no distractions just each other’s company and good food, with very few exceptions. But my favorite time of day growing up was always just before we all sat down to dinner. My older brothers ever they annoying, load, older brothers would go outback to play or play video games in their rooms, or what have you, and for the most part the house would be quiet. Mother and I would be in the kitchen with her favorite music playing. For as long as I can remember I helped with dinner almost every day, I loved to watch my mother cook, she did so well and skillfully, every meal delicious. But she also had so much fun with it, genuinely enjoyed cooking, loved cooking and dancing around the kitchen like no one was watch, even when I was. My father would often play with the boys when he got home from work, but on occasion he would join my mother and I in the kitchen and that always made things more exciting. And on very special occasions even my older brothers joined us in the kitchen usually holidays and birthdays, those were my favorite days, they always did something silly or me being the younger but more experienced sibling in the kitchen would teach them how to do something, I loved being smarter than them.

              While absorbed in memories of my childhood I absently combine the ingredients for the marinara sauce my family has been making for generations into the large pot my parents got me as a wedding gift. I am so entranced in my memories I didn’t even notice my husband walk past me with our daughter in his arms and to the door, where my brothers had apparently knocked.

              “Smells good, Sis.” Alex says smiling while he wraps me in a huge.

              “You’re early.” I smile and embrace him.

              Zander his identical twin, pushes him aside, taking me in his arms, “It’s been too long, Little Sis.” I laugh happy to have them here, we may live close but all live busy lives with families of our own now and don’t see each other nearly as often as we should.

“You look more like your mom everyday.” My father Alexander embraces me next. Mother thought it was hilarious that she named the boys Alex and Zander. Father wanted one to be Alexander Junior and mother wouldn’t have one son be a junior and another not when they are born at the same time. So, Alex and Zander was their compromise.

              “Dinner’s not until seven thirty, why are you all so early.” I look at the clock it’s nearly five.

              “The boys here wanted to help with dinner, said it was tradition.” My sister-in-law Marissa, Alex’s wife, tells me a smile with on her face, a tear in her eye. She and Laura, Zanders wife, begin to usher their children into our living room down the hall, “We are going to take the kids in the living room to play, you all have a good time.” My husband follows them with the baby, who is now sleeping in his arms. I smile with tears in my eyes, I know that this day is supposed to be theirs too, and I hope my brothers were good enough to do something special for them earlier, but the generosity and graciousness they are showing my brother, me and our father, allowing us to celebrate our late mother, without a care to how it is unfair to them, they deserve to be celebrated too. I make a mental note to take them to lunch just the three of us soon.

              “I love your wives,” I tell my brothers.

              “We like ‘em, too.” They chime in unison, I giggle, and Dad laughs deeply from the barstool he’s sitting on.

              “Back to work, I’m hungry,” Alex nudges me towards the stove.

              “What can we do to help,” Zander asks.

              “One of you can mallet the chicken sitting in the bags over there,” I point to the chicken breasts I have waiting in Ziploc baggies, Zander quickly strides over and begins the task I’ve assigned.

              “The other, can make the salad, and chop the veggies we’re gonna bake. All the ingredients are sitting on the island, waiting to be washed and chopped.” Alex begins to do so. I watch as he skillfully chops lettuce before throwing it into a colander. He is nothing like the awkward teenager he once was, neither of them are, and I suppose neither am I. I recall the last time we made this meal together, it was  at mom and dads house, right before I went off to college, we’ve cooked together since then just not this meal. Mom was so proud but I could tell she was having a hard time with me leaving being her baby and all.

              Daddy pulls me away from my memories “What can I do to help?”

              “Umm, can you prep the bread for me.” I say, handing him a bread knife, cutting board and loaf of French bread, as well as seasonings and cheese to top it with. He’s sitting at the bar, that’s where I’d like him to stay, he’s getting fragile. The thought of losing him too is not one I’m willing to entertain right now.

              “Thank you, Honey.” He says as he takes them from me.

              “No, thank you, Daddy.” I kiss his cheek as I walk past him to the fridge. “Anyone thirsty?” I ask them. Looking over my shoulder I see all my boys nod in the same way, they must have gotten that from dad. Quickly I grab the twins their favorite soda, Dr. Pepper setting a can beside where each of them is working. Then I hand Daddy a cup of coffee and his favorite creamer, I don’t even have to ask what they want.

              We chat and reminisce while we work side by side to put together Moms favorite meal. Zander breads the chicken after flattening it, then hands it to me to fry. “What’s next?”

              “Pasta, get the water boiling.”

              “Pots?”

              “Under that counter there,” I point to the one he’s standing in front of. He takes on out adds water and some oil and walks over to the stove. One of moms songs to us comes on, I hope you dance by Lee Ann Womack. We all freeze in what we are doing even Daddy and listen. My brothers each take a hand and move me around the kitchen similar to the way they used to when Mama would play this song for us while cooking. They were sillier then always spinning me and pulling me from each other, this time was different this time each took a hand and held it to his heart and moved us around the kitchen. My eyes are full of tears as the song ends and they embrace me together. We look at our Dad and he has tears in his eyes too. “Your Mother’s here with us.” is all he says as he joins our embrace, and it truly feels as though she is.

              I am the one to break the beautiful moment for fear of never wanting to leave the safety of their embrace. “We’ve got to get back to dinner.” I say.

              Quickly I move back to the chicken I had been rearranging in the pans I intend to bake them in. It always is a jigsaw puzzle to put them in nicely. Next is the marinera sauce, then the mozzarella cheese, where did I put that. Looking around I realize I haven’t even diced my fresh mozzarella yet but can’t find it.

              “Your brother Alex, has it.” Dad says.

              I look over at him, “Has what, Dad?”

              “The cheese you’re looking for.”

              “How did you know I was looking for the cheese?”

              “Your mother always forgot to prep the cheese as well, that’s why when you got old enough it was your first job, in helping with this meal.” He tells me, “Plus, that’s the step you’re on baby girl.” I look down at the chicken coated in marinara and he’s right its obvious I’d be looking for the cheese.

              Alex walks over having heard the conversation, “I finished the salad, so I found something else that needed chopping.” He smiles handing over my mozzarella cheese cubed, as well as, the provolone shredded.

              “Perfect, thank you.” taking the cheeses from him I top each chicken with a good amount of each cheese. Add some parmesan and chopped basil.

I cover the pans and throw them in my preheated oven, along with the prepped veggies. I set a timer for twenty minutes, then we all head into the living room to enjoy time with our families. When the timer goes off, I will throw the pasta in the boiling water. Then set another timer for 10 minutes when I’ll remove the chicken, collect the juice pulled in the bottom of the pans then put them back in the oven for another ten minutes. I’ll pull the pot of pasta off the stove and pour it in a strainer, to cool a bit before dinners ready. I’ll turn the sauce back on low heat so it stays warm for dinner. Taking the veggies out of the oven I’ll throw the bread my fathers arranged on a baking sheet.

              When I pull everything out of the oven and begin arranging it onto serving platters, my brothers set the table and our spouses gather our children up and calm them at the table.

              As I sit down at the dinner table, the last one to do so, I am filled with warmth. Grateful my brothers and father helped me cook dinner. I guess I’m not too different from my mother. I’ll always cherish cooking meals with loved ones and the wonderful memories that brings. I look at my baby girl in her highchair and can’t wait to start making those memories with her, cooking dinner will always be my favorite time of day.