Sasha Roiz Imagines

Mother's Day

Your daughter bounds into the room. "Mama! Mama!" Catching her as she jumps up onto the bed, you cuddle her close to you. Even though she was six and over four feet you still took every opportunity to cuddle her. She was your light. She gives you a kiss and instructs you "stay right there and be right back!"

You grin at her running out of the room, wondering what she's up to. You have your answer a few minutes later. You hear your husband, Sasha, say quietly, "Careful, sweetie. Walk a little slower."

Your daughter appears through the doorway, carrying a breakfast tray. Your husband is right behind her, ready to catch it if she trips or tilts the tray. You grin at your daughter and husband as they painstakingly make their way to the bed. Your husband reaches out to help your daughter place the breakfast tray on the bed. She stops in the act of placing it on the bed and glares at her father. "Daddy!!! Leave me alone. I can do this on my own."

Your husband and you share a look, barely concealing your grins. She was a very independent child. Always insisting to do things herself. Carefully, ever so slowly she places the breakfast tray over your lap. Giving it a final pat, making sure it's secure, your daughter let go of it and jumping up and spreading her arms, she shouted, "Happy Mother's Day, Mama!!!!"

Smiling at your daughter, you say with the same enthusiasm, "Thank you sweetie!!! It looks wonderful!! Did you cook it all yourself?"

"Well, I did most of it. Daddy helped a little. Just a little."

Looking over the spread, you note a glass half full of milk (Sasha probably didn't want her spilling it), scrambled eggs with tons of pepper (your favourite, but she may have gone a little overboard), two sort of mangled pieces of multi grain toast with butter, slightly burnt bacon (you liked your bacon fairly crispy anyway) and sausages. Sasha had been teaching your daughter to cook breakfast since that was his domain. Your talents lay more towards dinner, desserts and baked goods.

Indicating beside you, you say to her, "Come sit beside me, let me share this with you." She scampers up the bed, beside you, being mindful of the tray. Your husband makes his way around the bed and comes along the other side of your daughter. Stretching out, he lays down listening to the chatter of how precisely and carefully she cooked and made everything. Sasha sighs happily, content in the moment of spending time with you and the daughter you both love with every fiber of your beings.

Your daughter and you consume the breakfast your husband and her had made earlier that morning for you. You and your daughter pause in eating, share a look with each other and look over at Sasha. He looks over when he hears an expectant pause in the chatter he was languishing in. "Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Did you want us to share with you?"

Your husband chuckles softly. He knows how much you two love your food and how much you two can eat. "No, sweetie, I made some for myself, which I'll get in a little bit. Thank you for offering though, that's sweet of you," he answers her question.

You smile at Sasha apologetically. He grins back at you, mouthing I love you. I love you, you mouth back to him.

You grin at your daughter, saying "Daddy knows how much we don't like sharing food doesn't he? Think maybe this once, we could share with him?"

Your daughter looks thoughtful. She scurries off the bed, to the surprise of you and Sasha. You two look at each other in surprise, wondering what she's up to. "Maybe I should...." he hedges.

"No, no. Let us wait and see what she's up to," you say.

"Okay." He reaches out his hand to grab yours. "Happy Mother's Day, darling," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. Moving the lap tray out of the way, you snuggle up to him. "She's pretty awesome, isn't she? We sure got lucky with her."

He nods in agreement, kissing the top of your head, cradling your entwined hands over his heart. You both freeze, hearing the approach of your daughter. She's not moving at her usual speeding bullet momentum. She seems to be walking carefully, deliberately. You two glance up at each other, slightly worried, wondering what she's up to. She comes into the room announcing cheerfully, "I'm practicing for when I'm a waitress one day!"

She's balancing a plate of food on either hand, just like the waitress she proclaimed to be a second ago. With her tongue peeking out between her teeth, she carefully places the two plates on the bedside table. The two plates are piled up with a ton of food. You peek at Sasha, asking with your eyes, is that the rest of the food you two cooked? His head tilts in affirmation. Your eyes widen in amazement. It was a lot of food the two of them cooked. But not unwarranted considering the amount of food your daughter and you eat. She darts off once again, this time coming back at a moderate speed holding an empty plate and a half glass full of orange juice. She puts the glass down carefully on the bedside table and starts selecting food and putting it on the empty plate. Finished plating the food with a flourish she hands the food over to your husband. "Here you go, Daddy! Happy Mother's Day!!"

The two of you look at each other and burst out in laughter. He puts his plate down and makes a grab for her, hauling her up on the bed. The two of you, still laughing, snuggle your daughter between the two of you. You two start peppering her with kisses between her laughing squeals of "Stop! Not the kisses! It's embarrassing!!! It's embarrassing!"

You two stop, listening to her plea. You two snuggle her close. You say to your daughter, "I love you sweetheart. Thank you for being my daughter. You are the best daughter a mom can have."

"And a dad," your husband adds.

Snuggling close between the two of you, she says "Love you both lots and lots and lots and lots and lots," pausing she looks at both of you and says, "Can we finish eating now please?"