MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST

By Ronald Lazar
1 of 18

MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST

by Ronald Lazar

Copyright 2008, 2015 Ronald Lazar

1,991 Words

Contact:

Ronald Lazar, Author &Publisher

Light Years Ahead LLC
1208 N. Collier Street
Coquille, Oregon 97423

Phone 541-824-1093
Email: lightyearsahead@outlook.com

Mom’s Sunday breakfast was routinely hellish.

She’d beg us to rise. We’d resist with great relish.
Looking back on those days, I now understand,
How Mom struggled for peace and her family plan.
I just didn’t get that our family’s important.
Enjoying instead mischief, anger and torment
Leaving all of our family’s love lying dormant.
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
2 of 18
I remember those Sundays...
How Mom would get up,
Scramble some eggs,
Put juice in a cup.
She’d work all her magic to tempt us to rise,
Mixing her hopes with culinary surprise.

She would call several times, before we would wake.

She’d begin very sweetly,
“Would you like a pancake?”
When I’d pretend not to listen,
I’m sure that she wanted to send me to prison.

“Would you please, my sweet boys, arise and awake?”

I’d dream on and mumble, “What a fine king I’d make!”
Mom would tap on my shoulder,
Give me a slight shake,
“Come on, now, get up!
Wash your face.
Come to breakfast!”
I snorily grumbled, “My crown i-ZZZ-o heavy...
I need lots of neck rest.”
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
3 of 18
“Listen up, heinous highness,”
Mom’s tone would grow deeper,
“The queen of this queendom
Has decreed NO LATE SLEEPERS!
That goes for you, and you, too!
Get up, NOW! Get moving!
You both can be obstinate!
That’s all that you’re proving!”
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
4 of 18
At last she’d command us with this ultimatum –

“If you’re not up in two seconds

These pancakes – you’ll hate ‘em!
They’ll be cold, they’ll be dry,
They’ll be soggy and clammy,
They’ll stink like old bones
From here clear to Miami!
They’ll be pungent and rotten and chewy and thick!
Oozing with slime and hard as a brick!”

And if after this we still didn’t arrive at the table,

She’d astonish our ears with this inanely grim fable,

“One day you’ll be sorry for making me do this!

I’ll force this feast down your throat
And I’ll make you chew this –
Wait! What was that sound?
Who has the hubris to scoff at their mother
With the sound of a rude hiss?
Was it human, or
reptile?
But – Both are delicious!
Bad boy stew? Lizard cake?
The first course will be human!
And the second course – snake!
Then I’ll fricassee every one of your pets!
Your toad and your cricket!
Your snickering bat,
Your favorite scorpion,
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
5 of 18
One of those, two of that!
I’ll persuade you to eat every bite if it kills me,
And I’ll laugh in the end when the mortician bills me!
Don’t delay or your breakfast will require exhuming!”

I croaked out, “Look, I’m up! See how fast I am zooming?”

“Zzzoom! Zzzoom! Zzzoom!” snored my brother.

I hate to admit it
But I kind of enjoyed
Watching Mom lose it,
Seeing her get annoyed.
I never imagined
I could drive her berserk.
I found out Mom had her limits
When I behaved like a jerk.

OH, MY GOSH! MOM WAS FUMING!

We pulled up the covers!

Her outrage was so full of courage and sinew,
(Oh, why did we argue?)
Her thunder continued,
“Don’t make me force you!
Don’t cause me more strife!
I’ll make you get up
If it costs me YOUR life!”

“But, Mommmm!” I protested, “We’re enjoying our eeease!

 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
6 of 18
It’s Sunday! Why shouldn’t we do as we pleeease?”

She pronounced,
“Because we are FAM-I-LY
And FAMILY means OTHER!
It means you must be WITH
Father, Sister and Brother!
We have to spend time TOGETHER, you cuss!
YOU must learn all about what it means to be US!”

But, I HATE him!” I hollered, as I hurled a reptile

At my brother ...
Who threw back the reptile projectile!

Then Mom got hotter than even the griddle!

And Dad tried to get out of the middle.
And Sister cried, “Mom, please calm down, they’re just
kidding!”

Mom said,
“Stand back!
I’ll make them do my bidding!
I’ll teach them to love one another or else!”

Then from the kitchen came a rummmbling noise

Plus some crackle-crunch-groaning sounds --
Sounds that my brother and I had often times heard, being
boys,
Sliding down Cinder Mountain with our sleds catching fire
–
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
7 of 18
FIRE!

The lesson had ended!

Not because things got mended,
Not because Mom decided that we were not learning –
But because – in the kitchen –

ALL THE FOOD WAS NOW BURNING!

Mom and Dad ran amok throwing food at the fire.

While they battered the pancakes,
Little sister, the crier,
Cried, at me, “Now, look what you’ve done!”
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
8 of 18

I knew there was nowhere to hide or to run.

 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
9 of 18
After Mom’s coal black pancakes were finally extinguished,
I didn’t feel either smart or distinguished.

No breakfast that Sunday.

Life felt crummy and awful.

No pancakes or eggs –

Then brother asked for a waffle!

I couldn’t believe it! I looked at him once,
And said in a loud whisper, “What are you, a dunce?
Or a twit? Or a nitwit? Or a half-witted runt?
Can’t you see what has come from our dimwitted stunts?”

Dad quietly told us to, “get... in... the... car,”

And there we all sat, sharing one protein bar.

As I chewed on my portion, that tasted like putty,

I wondered out loud, “Is this family plain nutty?”

But –
Was I to blame?
Was I a bad, sad or true kid?
And afraid -- pretty soon,
I’d be a stewed kid,
Which is where they would put me
Till I’d admit “I was really a weasely, blue kid,
Besides which, it’s clear, that I’m easily stupid.”
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
10 of 18
Then the Earth started grumbling, and rumbling, and
quaking,
Like Mom’s scolding words.
Did it feel Mom’s heart breaking?
The eruptions began in our kitchen, with hissing,
And grew louder and louder -- then my sister went missing!
We all ran outside -- the mountains exploding,
The ground trembled beneath us, with dread and
foreboding.

“Little sister!” we shouted, confused and dumfounded.

The river of lava had our house surrounded,
But we only wondered on Sis, and she had us confounded!
I was frozen with terror that she could be found –
…dead.
The only safe place was in the sky in our ark.
Was my sister grounded in the red and the dark?

Our dinosaur ark was Dad’s adaptive reaction

To save his whole family from hot air extraction,
And not just some crazy guy’s half-cocked contraption –
A cage --
That would lift us to safety
When the earth erupted with rage.
It was big and outfitted with food, clothes and water,
But, of course, what was missing was our sister, their
daughter.
As we floated above the miasma and mire --
Mom and Dad held us tightly.
Was it raining through fire?
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
11 of 18
I wondered, quite rightly,
And the ark drifted higher.
Again came a drip on my shoulder,
And I looked up to see if rain clouds meant it’s getting
colder.
Then I saw that my sister was up in the rigging!
Like a stranded cow in a tree, or imagine a piggling.
Wasn’t rain, but her tears that fell on my shoulder.

We all took that moment to hold her.

What else could we do?

Volcanoes aren’t through, till they’re through.
We gazed at the landscape, lit by lava and lightning.
Our home seemed so helpless, and doomed. It was
frightening.
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
12 of 18
Dad said, “Volcanoes are not only hot and destructive,
The hot lava cools, and it’s rich and productive,
So even the Earth’s anger’s constructive.”
(I was in no mood to think, let alone comprehend --
Dad’s insights –later in life, became my lifelong
friends.)

I felt sick in my middle, in my heart, in my head,

So upset with myself that I wished I were dead.
I expected a spanking, or at least a good scolding,
But instead, their hands held me,
So, I let go of the fear I was holding.

We watched our home

Being circled by fire
I could feel the heat,
Smell the Earth’s acrid ire.
A lightning bolt hit the kitchen chimney’s red spire,
An eerily fitting and festive funereal pancake pyre.

Then it rained and it thundered...

And we stuck out our tongues
For a cool tasty drink...
We were wet head to toe.
The rain made my eyes blink.
I looked at Mom all asunder.
I felt my soul shrink.

Then I thought, “Well, of course!

What I’m feeling is something
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
13 of 18
I’ve heard called remorse.”

Then, something changed.

I felt something new.
The change was me healing,
‘Cause I knew what to do!
Just knowing touched my heart to the core –
Mom was right!
A family breakfast might prevent family war!
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
14 of 18
The NEXT Sunday morning...
I got up early.
I got washed.
I got dressed.
Brushed my teeth, white and pearly.
I fed all the dragons.
Repaired the drawbridge and truss.
Dressed the wound on the Griffin,
And cleaned out the puss.

Then, while everyone else was in bed, soundly sleeping,

I cooked up a fine breakfast –
Nothing burning , no one freaking!

The smell was astounding, an aroma deluxe!

I felt giddy and happy! Got the point! Found the crux!
And the world – just like that!
Went from, “AW, RATS!” to “AW, SHUCKS!”

Then I felt eyes were watching me.

Who was there, slyly peeping?
Every creature had wakened,
And towards me came creeping.
A murder of crows squawked en masse
“What the heck?!”
And my buddy, the Griffin, bellowed,
“All hands on deck!”
Then the world arrived,
AMAZED at my table –
Brother, Sister and Father,
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
15 of 18
And our dead Auntie Mabel!
On whom something was chewing.
(It looked like a sable.)
Crawlers and jumpers and all that were able,
Climbed on top of each other,
(and this “pet pyramid” was surprisingly stable.)
There was meowing and mewing,
But not one bit of violence.
All gathered together in reverent silence.

There was Mom, happy-crazy –

Whirling and leaping.
Then she stood very still,
And I saw she was weeping.
“What a lovely surprise!
You’ve made breakfast!”
She sniffed, with tears in her eyes.

Three crows harmonized

Their soft squark, squawk and caw –
Leading three more of the creatures
To sing in soft awe:
The kookaburra, the kestrel,
And a cockroach named Kafka.

All the rest seemed transfixed in peaceful communion

And I saw that my family is a magnificent union.
Every creature that morning
Held claws and paws with each other,
But the best thing of all
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
16 of 18
Was the look that I saw on the face of my Mother.

She smiled,
“Thank you for cooking.
Now, let us all DINE
In PEACE
Just this ONCE
Without a groan or a WHINE.”

“A-men!” said my sister.

“Pass the butter,” said Dad,
He kissed Mom on the cheek.
Still, I felt kind of sad
For all of the other times
I had caused so much trouble.
Dad asked, “What’s wrong?”
I said, “It’s just a gas bubble,”
But Mom knew I was sorry,
And her smile then doubled.

From then on our Sundays were no longer tearful,

And all of our breakfasts were happy and cheerful.

Now, I’m a grandfather,

And Mom’s passed away,
But the hair on the back of my neck
Still stands up on Sunday –
While I’m making breakfast
For my grandkids still sleeping,
I feel that Mom’s ghost might be here slyly peeping
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
17 of 18
And I can remember
Her voice soft with music...
“Breakfast is ready!
Don’t gulp! Slow down! CHEW!”
In MOM-TALK you know that she means,
“I love you.”

Mom’s pancakes still make Sunday a fun day,

(And I try not to burn them,
Like what happened that one day.)
So, I have a way that is very persuasive
To encourage my grandkids, when they are evasive;
To help them get up, here’s a sure fire trick,
If they’re late for their pancakes, I serve them a brick!

Not really – it’s just fun to end on a rhyme.

So, if Mom’s breakfast goes wrong,
YOU make it next time.
 MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Ronald Lazar
18 of 18
That’s the moral prescription
To avoid family friction and fraction,
When there’s family confliction,
YOU can take action.

THE END

MOM’S SUNDAY BREAKFAST

by
RONALD LAZAR

Copyright 2008, 2015

Light Years Ahead LLC