I remember it being my father who did most of the cooking. I know that this isn't true, I know that it was my mother that was day to day preparing breakfasts, lunches for school (she made my little sister and I lunch every day), dinner to have waiting when my father would return with one of us from practice. But Dad had the signature dishes: Chinese Roasted Pork and Chile con Queso on Sundays with the football game; Steak Oscar on New Year's Eve; and for some reason his French Toast always had a bit of fried egg on the edge, which my sister and I found delightful. Mom was American Gourmet 101. Mom would make Pot Roast, and Chicken with Cheese and a can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup. Mom would make Meat Loaf. But I don't associate any of these dishes with my Mom. This is terrible to admit, but I can't imagine sitting at another's table and thinking that Mom could make it better; not unless, that is, the menu features Fried Hamburger Tacos and "Any Pudding" Desert.

But Mom was better. She did not miss a day, did not take a day off, even when it seemed as though the pressures of holding my family together would tear her apart. She was the fucking dark matter, the only one who possessed the strength and fortitude to keep in harmonious orbit a family predisposed to wandering. And her lack of originality in the kitchen notwithstanding, Mom always seemed just a little sharper, a bit more sophisticated, more independent, more of an able woman than the other Moms. I know that she thought we took her for granted. Maybe we did...I'm certain we did. But I was always proud of her.

But Mom has changed in recent years. She is not longer the confident, assertive, force she once was. There now are times when I doubt my mother, doubt her ability, doubt that she is able. I know that she has doubts about herself. So there is just the one thing I would like her to know on this Mother's Day: her children know that she has poured her everything into them, and they know that whatever successes they achieve are reflections of her effort, her patience, her determination. And her children will be there for her, will support her with the power of their self-confidence, their strength of character. Because even if the nourishment we received in the kitchen was largely utilitarian, the lasting example of my Mom is a figure of superabundance.