A Diligent Woman
Tiredness had known my mother’s face better than anything and anyone else. A diligent woman she was, always opting to work smarter instead of harder. It was something she had always preached to her three children, her husband too. “Sunday is yuh day of rest. Get everything out de way on Saturday so yuh could rest de next day. Clean a little bit everyday so yuh doh have much to clean.” My mother was a relentless advocate for time management. Last Sunday, morning had warmly broken through the nighttime, and she was up at the brightest hour of 8:30. By the time anyone else in the house had woken up, the dishes from the night were neatly organized in the cupboards. The windows to the house were opened and so was the screen door that allowed the stale air out from the night before, and the fresh air in. She looked to me as I sat adjacent to the kitchen where she normally was. “You wan any ah wa I ga make fuh breakfast? I ga make yuh daddy sum ah dat Greek yogurt.”
I had passed on the meal but not the opportunity to watch my mother as she prepared it. Seriousness had spread throughout her face as she chopped strawberries and bananas into square pieces. Her lips were slightly chapped due to the morning air. She wore my pink bonnet that night to protect her braids from frizz. She wore a nightdress that had bleach marks scattered throughout the material.
“Carry dis to yuh daddy,” she said to me. “I ga bring he coffee.”
My mother had prepped my father a bowl of Greek yogurt. It was so meticulously put together, it screamed beauty. She was keen on proper presentation as she believed it made the food taste better. A smile came to her face as I asked her what was in the yogurt bowl. “Das some plain greek yogurt and I throw some honey in dat cuz it ga be sharp if yuh don’t add dat. Den I top dat with granola and sprinkle some chia and flax seed cuz ya daddy een ga eat it otherwise. I throw mixed nuts on top of it too cuz ya daddy like it, den I een wan my banana and strawberries go bad, so I put dat on dere too.”
Time had slowly passed throughout the day. It was a little after ten. She had the house smelling of pork chops that she had frying on the stove. She paired the meat with corn and rice. As they were cooking, she brushed the meatballs with her homemade barbecue sauce and dressed the carrots with honey. Even after preparing the food for that Sunday, she had looked to me and said, “I doh feel like cooking nuttin fuh nex week, so I ga get dat out the way today.”
She proceeded to prepare roasted sweet potatoes for my father. She fried some drumsticks she had prepared from the week prior. She seasoned wings in a lemon pepper rub and fried them in the air fryer. She mad jambalaya rice with sausage and shrimp and topped everything off with cupcakes for the week. The counter was congested with food to last the house the entire week.
Nighttime had fallen when she came to me in my room. “I jus mop the floor, so be careful. I gin go bathe and get myself prepared for work. When you come out, put the food in the fridge so it doh go bad. Yuh food in the microwave, yuh daddy own at de bottom an’ your own at de top.”
My mother, a diligent woman was she.