It was May 14th, Mother's Day, warm and muggy as always (hello Shreveport in May). We'd spent the morning making Jodie Gail (she'll kill me for using her full name), my Mom, breakfast in her kitchen. All three of her children, her two grand babies (Cavan and Charleigh), my husband (Trey), and my little sister's fiance (Stephen). We were all sprawled out. My little sister, Michelle, appears to be useful but really she's standing around Stephen-chatting with my Mom by the bar at the end of the kitchen; my Momma is next to the bar by the “office area,” where our landline phone and such things once were, trying to talk to us all simultaneously and grinning ear to ear like a giddy child.
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