Love: Unconditional

It's breakfast time at my house. My children, bouncing with energy from a restful night's sleep, are pulling at my pants and playing the 20 questions game - only they've forgotten they're only allowed 20 questions. "What's the difference between a sunny day and a summer day, mommy?" "Why can we only have 1 vitamin?" "Why can't we have top ramen for breakfast?" Faith is wearing the same dress she's worn for, I swear, 3 days which reminds me they need a bath and I need to do laundry. The sink is plugged again, and the pile of dishes forming makes me feel oddly claustrophobic. My train of thought has some how led me to the coffee pot when the smoke alarm reminds me I have something on the stove. Is every morning like this? I quickly flip the egg sitting in a hollowed-out piece of toast, only to see I've slightly burned one edge. I do my best to scrape off the burnt part as this is not only my last piece of bread, but my last egg. I slide the egg from the pan to a plate, where it catches a bit and rips the delicate center. It looks like a mess. Reminding myself that this is the last of the breakfast food in this house, I take the plate into my grandma. She's sitting on her bed reading, absentmindedly pushing on glasses that I know are not her reading glasses. She smiles at me. I set her breakfast on her side table and give her a hug. She clasps her hands together in the way only really special grandmas can do and tells me the food looks so tasty. And in that silly little moment, from words that were most certainly a little white lie, I feel ultimately grateful for unconditional love; for appreciation, and the egg-in-a-basket that almost wasn't. Thanks grandma, you're the best.