Our mothers were nothing like either of these people. (Source)
(Warning: We are having some fun, so what you are about to read does not explicitly contain science but does reference soy, onanism, tubed meats, and vacuums. In keeping with the DXS mission, however, we have embedded a little science here and there in the links. )
While the celebration of mothers is not a new concept, the modern version of Mother’s Day is a far cry from the ancient festivals that honoredCybele. However, in 1907, whenAnna Jarvis invented the modern Mother’s Day as a means to pay homage to her own mother, it was not her intention to use moms for profit.
But, alas, by the 1920s, this well-intended national holiday quickly morphed into the cash cow we see today. Sure, it is nice to receive a gift, but perhaps capitalism has since stripped Mother’s Day of its original meaning, and for the first week or two in May, we are bombarded with advertisements that claim to know what item every mother must have. From this, many sites have done us all the great favor of curating these cannot-live-without gifts into a single, easy to navigate list (financial kickbacks notwithstanding), often broken down into natural June Cleaveresque categories like “kitchen” and “for the home” (read: how to cook for everyone and keep shit clean).Besides the fact that these lists can be generalized to every gift-giving holiday for the lovely lady in your life, even Don Draper himself would scoff at many of these suggestions. Because we at DXS wish to ensure that your Mother’s Day experience is the best it can possibly be, we present you with a different kind of list – one that provides the most valuable unsolicited advice you will ever receive when it comes to choosing for dear old mom. Here, you will be schooled on what not to get for the woman that gave you life.
Flowers. One of the most suggested gifts for Mother’s Day is flowers. What woman doesn’t love flowers? Well, one who does not need one more thing to water, or sees her own mortality in each dried up petal aimlessly floating down onto the floor that had just been cleaned. Oh, and those tears you see building up in our eyes? Not tears of joy. You better back up or you might get caught in a sneezing fit of fury because, frankly, the last thing we want to do on “our” day is pretend that we like feeling like our heads will explode. And let us not forget how those flowers came to be available in your local flower shop or supermarket in the first place… from Colombia?
Soy Candles. Soy. For the last decade or two, we have seen the magical benefits of this plantproduct popping up in pseudoscientific “reports” in quality magazines like First for Women. And now, soy-pushers all over the intertubes will willingly exclaim that soy is the superior material for the production of candles, allegedly “soot free” (they aren’t really). Sure, anything soy-based will help the American Soy Farmer keep up with the Joneses, but a candle is a candle and unless you are also giving me a golden ticket to enjoy its inherent ambience whilst I soak in my imaginary claw-footed tub, full of bubbles and rose petals and the sultry sounds of Barry White, save it. Plus, I’d rather not burn my house down (again).
Gift Baskets! What says “I admire you like a work colleague” more than a gift basket? Sure, smoked cheeses and tubed meats taste fine after a few martinis, but when enjoying such delicacies, I prefer to do it while watching my co-workers photocopy their ass cheeks. Some things just don’t have the same effect in the home.
Teething Necklace. One website was flashing necklaces all over the place – but these weren’t just any old necklaces – they doubled as teething necklaces for the baby. Anyone who knows anything about a teething baby knows that, despite the alleged pain babies feel (hey, I don’t remember it, do you??), moms suffer the most. So instead of the necklace, why don’t you go ahead and take the dang baby for a few hours and give me a much deserved break? I’ll even sweeten the deal and throw some Tylenol in the diaper bag. And, in the strange and rare event that I might want rope burn on my neck, I’d rather get it from some fantasy role-playing in the boudoir. Take that as you will.
Vacuum Cleaner. If you really think that I want another reminder of how much I have to pick up after you and all of your friends – who regularly come over and wipe out all of the food I just deposited into my refrigerator – then yes, go ahead and buy me a vacuum. I mean, it is not like I don’t already spend all of my “free” time vacuuming the floors, so why not give me the gift that embodies what you really think of me (your maid)? Plus, Dyson has been showing commercials non-stop for a sale that runs until Mother’s Day, with the clear implication to get your mother (or if you are a mother to get yourself) a vacuum for Mother’s Day. So if you do decide to get a vacuum, make sure you have $500 for it. Remember, though, that a vacuum is really empty space, so you might want to consider getting me something more tangible–and fun.
50 Shades of Gray. Well, maybe I am not too opposed to this, but let it be known that I will probably need about ten minutes (give or take) of “alone” time after each time I pick up this series. As long as you are OK with this, I am OK with this. By the way, did you know that there are really more than 50 shades of grey?
We hope you will seriously consider this advice. After all, we really don’t need more shit to take care of, water, clean with, or… actually, we can always use some more good reads. Happy Mother’s Day!
Double X Science’s Chris Gunter, science education and outreach editor, wrote this wonderful post for the Last Word on Nothing. We are featuring it here for Mother’s Day because, as she writes, if you’re a mother, you and your child are part of each other forever–and this time, we mean in a scientific sense.
This summer I put my Lilkid, as I call him online, on the school bus for the first time ever. Evidently I have “socialized” him enough with other lilkids, because he got on without a backwards glance, ignoring his mother getting all teary and father waving goodbye. He chose a seat and then mouthed through the window with a huge grin, “MOM! I am ON THE SCHOOL BUS! And IT HAS NO SEAT BELTS!!!”
When you have a kid, people tell you various clichés about how your child will be part of you forever. Ladies, in your case, it’s true, and it’s supported by science.
Thanks to a phenomenon called fetal microchimerism, a mother can carry cells from her fetus in her own body for many years after the pregnancy ends. Particularly in the last two decades, microchimerism has been recognized as the norm rather than the exception. We now know that, instead of being separate systems, the mother and fetus leave a number of permanent marks on each other through the trafficking of cells back and forth over the placenta. Fetal stem cells make their way into the mother’s bloodstream and even into her bone marrow, sometimes contributing to her blood supply for the rest of her life.
Like many parts of having a kid, the consequences of this microchimerism are both good and bad. Fetal cells have been found at sites of injury in the mother while she’s pregnant, or even years later in liver injuries or appendicitis cases, apparently drawn by damage and participating in repair or regeneration. Good news! Fetal cells have also been found in breast cancers much later, again seeming to try and repair the tissue. Thanks, kid!
But the presence of fetal cells is also invoked as the reason why women have more autoimmune disorders, including lupus and thyroiditis, during and years after pregnancy. Immunologists think that this happens essentially because Mom’s immune system eventually realizes that these fetal cells don’t belong to her own body, and attacks them as a result. Hmmm, not great. [However, at least you have some more scientific basis if you hear yourself telling your child, “You are KILLING me!”]
In fact, testing women’s cells for the presence of the Y chromosome — the “male” chromosome, which females shouldn’t carry — uncovers it in about 30% of the bone marrow of grown women and 47% of cardiac aortas. Even among women who have truly never had a reportable pregnancy, 7% or more would test positive for XY cells. Doubling those numbers to account for fetuses of both sexes further supports the idea that many pregnancies go undetected. It’s not just the mothers standing with me at the bus stop who are microchimeric; these problems and benefits apply to more women than we think.
So as I watched Lilkid pull away into a new stage of independence, this geeky scientist thought about how his cells would literally be part of my body forever, for both good and more challenging times. Then the straight Mom kicked in with a host of more mundane worries: “Great — now I have to go look into this ‘no seat belt on the bus’ thing. Did I pack enough snacks for him to eat?” And so on as the school bus drove off for the first of many mornings.
Chris Gunter is a geneticist and the Director of Research Affairs at the HudsonAlpha Institute for Biotechnology in Huntsville, Alabama, and a DXS editor.
Today – June 20 – is the northern Summer Solstice, sometimes known as the Northern Solstice, “first day of summer”, or Midsummer’s Day, depending on where you live. It’s the longest day and shortest night of the year in the northern hemisphere (where I live), though exactly howlong or short depends on how far north you live. And of course in the southern hemisphere, today is is the shortest day and longest night, since the seasons are reversed.
The secret to the solstice and to Earth’s seasons in general involves the tilt of Earth’s axis. Our planet orbits the Sun in an elliptical path, which you can draw on a flat piece of paper: it doesn’t move “up” or “down”, but stays in a single plane known as the ecliptic. (The name “ecliptic”, as you might guess, is related to the word “eclipse”, since ancient astronomers determined eclipses of the Moon and Sun could only occur at certain places in the sky.) Earth’s axis is tilted compared to the ecliptic, and the axis points more or less in the same direction, wherever the planet is in its orbit. The axis points almost directly at Polaris, the North Star, which is why that star is a good navigational guide for those in the northern hemisphere: no matter what time of year, it’s always in the same spot in the sky. Other stars rise and set as Earth rotates, but not Polaris. (Unfortunately, there isn’t a South Star.)
As you can see from the diagram above, during about half the year, the North Pole points more toward the Sun, while it points more away for the rest of the year. Where I live, the Sun will never be directly overhead, even at noon. The farthest north that will ever happen is a special latitude known as the Tropic of Cancer – and the northern Summer Solstice is the day that occurs. On the northern Winter Solstice, which happens on December 21 or 22, the Sun is directly overhead at noon at the latitude of the Tropic of Capricorn.
Now we can see why summers are hot! In summer, the Sun rises earlier, sets later, and reaches a higher point in the sky. Those things combined mean extra sunlight, heating up the air and the ground longer. We can also see why I put “first day of summer” in quotes: the Solstice is the apex of the process, but the increase in daylight and temperatures begins long before June 20 (at least every place I’ve lived). The Midsummer’s Day festival, celebrated throughout northern Europe, acknowledges that; Shakespeare’s play A Midsummer Night’s Dream may have been written for the English version of the festival (though from what I can tell, the historical evidence is scant).
Similarly, during winter the Sun’s light comes in at a steeper angle and days are shorter, so the time for the ground to warm is greatly reduced. The northern Winter Solstice (also known as the Southern Solstice, “first day of winter”, Midwinter’s Day, or Yule) is the shortest day and longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere. On that day, the North Pole points as far away from the Sun as it ever does. We also have the reason the tropics are warm all year around: they receive about the same amount of sunlight during both summer and winter.
Approximately halfway between the solstices, the Sun appears directly overhead at noon at the Equator. On those days, everywhere on Earth gets about 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of night. These days are the equinoxes, meaning “equal night”. (The spell to extinguish light in the Harry Potter books is “nox”, for what it’s worth. Yes, I remember such things. I’m still waiting for my “accio!” summoning spell, though.) The two days are known as the Vernal(or spring) and the Autumnal (or autumn) Equinox, again based on the seasons in the northern hemisphere. From an astronomical point of view, Earth’s “solar year” is marked between successive vernal equinoxes. (A second measurement of the year, known as the sidereal year, is measured with respect to the stars. These two year measurements are almost, but not quite, the same length!)
Now let’s put all of this together in a movie! (For some reason, the Sun – which was a gently glowing lamp in my original simulation – came out looking flat and boring in the final movie. I guess I still have more to learn about creating three-dimensional animations.) For best results, please view this full-screen.
A big brother, practicing the art of allofathering.
By Emily Willingham, DXS managing editor
On Mother’s Day, scientist and blogger Kate Clancy wrote an excellent post at Scientific American about allomothers, the people in your circle of friends and family who support mothers in their mothering. In thanking the allomothers in her life, Clancy included in that list her husband because men can be allomothers, too. Although this site is called Double X because we want to bring evidence-based science–and yes, some snark–to women, tomorrow is Father’s Day. So today, we’re shifting into XY gear and talking about allofathers.
We all have or had fathers. Some for better, some for worse, some we may never have even seen. Many of us also have had other men in our lives who participated in a father role or who supported our fathers in the same way that Clancy writes about supporting mothers. The funny thing is, a Google search on “allofathers” confuses Google so badly that it actually declines to do that search and instead offers a search on “allomothers.” When you force it to search “allofather,” you get only three pages of scanty hits, some of which reference a more general “alloparenting.”
Why no love for the allofathers, Google? Fathers these days need allo support as much as mothers, or at least, the fathers I know do. As Paul Raeburn writes in this Father’s Day piece:
The grindingly slow recovery of the economy is making it hard for fathers to earn enough to help support their families. Those who do have jobs are working more hours, taking time away from checkers and family dinners. In many families, both parents are working, leaving less time for fathers and partners to work on their relationships with each other.
He notes that fathers these days thrive in a habitat that allows the time with family, time to do things other than make a living wage, although that remains an important feature of fatherhood and a key goal of every father I know. In fact, that emphasis means that my spouse–who is also the father of my children–is at work right now, on Saturday, after already putting in overtime through the week. Indeed, he may have to work tomorrow, on Father’s Day, and is looking at a midnight deadline Monday night. There will be no games of chess with Dad this weekend.
The work is difficult enough and in a trying environment. And pushing against this need to work hard and keep a job is also a desire to have the kind of family time those of us in the United States have come to expect on weekends, particularly when we work salaried weekday jobs that ostensibly promise weekends off. That means that on top of the anxiety associated with stacking 20 or 30 extra hours onto a 40-hour work week to meet a tough deadline, my husband and my children’s father also feels angst about this inability to be a part of our family time. These are first-world problems, I realize, but that doesn’t make them any less real for us and our children.
So I’m allofathering for him. Yes, I’m the mother, but I’m also supporting my husband’s fathering role, in part by doing things that assure him that we’re all OK, and in part by doing things with our sons that people might think of as stereotypically “dad” activities: fishing, baseball, football, soccer, hiking. But I also have taken on the things he usually does around the house, like emptying the dishwasher Every Single Time, vacuuming, and doing the laundry. Bless the man, he usually does all the laundry. But I do miss the other allofathers in our lives.
We no longer live a stone’s throw or a short-ish drive from our extended family, but when we did and still when we visit, the allofathers are abundant. My children have uncles who take them fishing, monitor group infighting among nine cousins, catch snakes with them, play football and soccer with them, and take them on hikes and (fruitless) dove hunting. My husband does his share of allofathering for their children, reading books and playing with the youngest, making dinners, and serving as an ever-necessary playground monitor. And my children have a grandfather who builds things in his shop for them, closely monitors their BB gun target practice, wanders for hours with them in nearby woods to find animal bones, and patiently acknowledges every single mystifying LEGO construction and rambling imaginary story surrounding it.
All of these alloparents expand the parenting and support and safety net for my children. They are the village raising my sons, and my children trust them implicitly. These allofathers summon up reserves of energy they probably didn’t know they had and in spending this time with their nephews or grandchildren, they add layers of complexity and different insights from father figures that my children wouldn’t otherwise have. They also model for children like my sons the many roles a man can have through life.
As humans, we fit several features of species that engage in this extra-parental parenting, including typically having a single offspring at a time, a relatively small number of offspring over a lifetime, and an extended period of parental investment, and being part of a highly social species with tight family bonds. It may be that as our culture evolves so that the father role expands into what was previously considered maternal territory, we need to more closely consider allofathers as well as allomothers. These factors that characterize us as an alloparenting species can add up to benefits and greater success for mothers and fathers and children alike. At any rate, I know that’s been the case in our family.
When I was growing up, I had four grandmothers and four grandfathers. Half of them were “step” grandparents, obviously, but I loved the fact that I had all of these grandparents, blissfully unaware in my childhood of the fractures and angst that had led to their presence in my life. Among these step-grandparents was the man who married my mother’s mother. They met over square-dancing, he a handsome architect, she a tiny, fiery single mother who could sew some kick-ass square-dancing outfits.
Through various unanticipated turns in Life’s do-se-do, after marrying my grandmother, this man one day became father to two of my cousins. From their early childhoods, he has been their father, even though for the rest of us cousins, he was our step-grandfather. Along with my grandmother, he committed himself to rearing them and being their parent, and today, in part thanks to his steady, calm presence, they are successful, happily married parents themselves. Without his stabilizing influence, their paths might have been much less straightforward.
While what my step-grandfather did crossed over from alloparenting to being an actual father, my own children have a step-grandfather of their own who, I think, epitomizes allofathering. When we visit, he has a ready store of caps available for all the cap guns he buys them by the dozen (if you think there are a lot of guns in this post, there are; it’s Texas). He actually builds–builds–go carts and other motorized vehicles to take them buzzing around the large property where he and my mother live and maintains a fleet of bicycles for them to ride. He will drop anything to run a quick errand just because one of the youngest generation expresses a wish for a certain treat or toy. Ask him to make you an ax from a stick and a rock, and he’ll do it masterfully. He attends every volleyball, baseball, or basketball game my niece and nephew have and has simply been a steady and much-loved allofather figure in the lives of all of the youngest generation in our family.
When I think of men like these who enter into lives already structured around complex family interactions and who take on without comment or resentment the care and loving of the children in that family, I wonder if I could be as kind or selfless. Of course, I hope that I could. These little people are, after all, children, and they need love and support and classic grandparental spoiling and an understanding that parenting and parental love come in different forms and different ways of expression. To all the allofathers in my life, I–and my children–are extremely grateful. To all the fathers and allofathers out there, happy Father’s Day. And may I say, I think you all warrant more Google hits.
***Special thanks to Kate Clancy for her post on allomothers and to Paul Raeburn for his post about the role of fathers today, which certainly drove my thinking about this topic.***
These views are the opinion of the author and do not necessarily either reflect or disagree with those of the DXS editorial team.
“Motherhood”: Sculpture at the Catacumba Park, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Motherhood. It can mean many things, and our own definition of it is largely defined by our individual experiences. To one person, motherhood might simply mean the act of raising children; to another, motherhood might be what defines them.
It is not uncommon to generalize the concept of “motherhood” and lump everyone who upholds a single criterion – being a mom – into one group. But, really, motherhood affects us all in one way or another, and that way is as unique as the pattern of curves and ridges on a fingertip.
Despite the recent outbreak of (heated) discussion surrounding the Time cover story depicting a beautiful and young woman nursing a toddler, and the questioning if following a certain philosophy makes one more or less of a mother, humans, as a whole, are truly bound by a common goal: to raise the next generation to the best of our abilities under the circumstances at hand. But, there is no one answer.
Every mom will have her own definition of motherhood. But, being a mom is by no means a prerequisite for understanding motherhood as it relates to an individual. For this special Mother’s Day post, we would like to pay homage to motherhood in its many forms. Here you will not find a singular description of motherhood. What you will find, however, is what it means on a more personal level, which is to say that the definition can only come from the heart.
Thank you to all of the wonderful people who participated in this project (and with short notice!) – we have answers in paragraph, tweet, and prose forms.
Motherhood means feeling a kaleidoscope of emotions simultaneously – fear, glee, worry, angst, pride. And it means being an advocate and a revolutionary who empowers her children to engage in society in a meaningful, fun, vibrant way. And lastly, motherhood means always giving up the biggest piece of cake and the last popsicle and being okay with that.
Motherhood means accepting responsibility. If you read the news or listen to the hype, you know what I mean. Every choice you make, from before a child is conceived, until long after you’re dead, there is someone out there that will tell you how it impacted your kid. As my nana always said, “It’s always the mother’s fault.” I just hope that as the time passes I get more credit than blame for how my kids turn out.
Motherhood is how you stretch your heart in ways you never thought possible. It’s how you love through the ups & down, the challenges that life brings. And, it lasts a lifetime from that first tiny cry.
I’m a human geneticist by training, so I’ve been told having a child is the ultimate version of participating in my research. But the science analogy that best summarizes it for me is maternal-fetal microchimerism. Data demonstrating that my son and I each likely have some of each other’s intact cells inside us forever — as I have with my mother, and she with hers, and so on — beautifully represent to me the meaning of motherhood. As the quote from Elizabeth Stone goes, having a child “is to decide forever to have yourheart go walking around outside your body.” To me, that includes half my DNA, some of my cells, and so many of my hopes and dreams, all in one sweet, kissable package.
Motherhood: As a mom of triplets, some would say I have triple the work but I like to think of it as triple the hugs, triple the joy, triple the fun! And when people ask me what it’s like to become a mom I tell them “it’s the toughest job you’ll ever love.” Happy Mother’s Day to all of you amazing, do-it-all moms out there!
I’m a man, so I obviously have no first-hand experience as a mother. That said, I was raised by a (wonderful) single mother, and have had the pleasure of watching my wife be an awesome mom to our three daughters. Those experiences have shaped my impressions of motherhood. To me, motherhood means being kind, but honest. Being gentle, but strong. Being nurturing, but encouraging independence. Motherhood is letting your kids think you are ten feet tall and bulletproof, so they feel you can keep them safe — even though there’s stuff out there that scares the hell out of you. It’s encouraging your kids to learn new things and to work their butts off in school, without making them feel stupid. Motherhood is leading by example when it comes to telling right from wrong, and showing your kids which battles are worth fighting. And, when the time comes, motherhood is letting go of the reins to see where the kids go on their own. Motherhood is not for wimps.
The greatest realization of motherhood for me was that the children we have are people of their own, not “our” children or some kind of nutty, messy, screaming, demanding “other” invading our space, disrupting our lives, and taking our precious time. They are people I love to have around me because they make me laugh, they bring out the teacher in me (not hard to do), they are cool and interesting and imaginative and fun, and each of them (I have three) is a complete individual with a unique personality, outlook, potential, talent, and beautiful, beautiful face that I love to see every day. Just as I choose to spend time with others whom I love, respect, admire, and laugh with, I choose to do the same with my children. That said, I also still have what I had before my children arrived–a happy, full busy life with a partner to whom I seem to grow closer every day, and work that I love. Thanks to my children, I’ve got something even more–three more wonderful people added to my life whom I am deeply delighted and, frankly, honored to know. As Bill Murray’s character in Lost in Translation observes, “They learn how to walk and they learn how to talk… and you want to be with them. And they turn out to be the most delightful people you will ever meet in your life.”
Motherhood is humbling. Of all the endeavors I have tackled in my life, never have I wanted so badly to get everything right and yet known that I would not. Never have I been so emotionally invested in the results, so exhausted by the labor of it, and also, so strangely confident that it will turn out OK. It is the most human thing I have ever done.
For men whose ideas of fatherhood were shaped in large part by its absence in our own lives, motherhood may mean something a bit different. I’m by no means a scholar, but I’ve had the opportunity to speak often and at length with women across the globe on this topic, and to curate their thoughts a bit. These women talk about the feeling of connection to their children they know no one else has. They describe the magic of watching their little ones narrate the moments of discovery in their lives. They talk about how their children “complete the circle” and teach them the other side of unconditional love. They help you understand why people invoke the lioness or the grizzly when describing the protective instinct.
My perspective of motherhood is a lot like that last sentiment – it’s the unyielding power that rises up in you when you realize a little person depends on you for everything. I know that many men step up when left in that situation – I’ve seen it first-hand – but I suspect the feeling is different for women because this little person actually came from you, is an extension of you, is connected to you in ways no man will ever fully understand.
When I think of motherhood, I think of unconditional love. It’s what my mother gave to me, and it’s what I expect I would feel for the children I don’t intend to have. My mother made countless sacrifices for me, but she was independent and did not allow motherhood to define her. She has always encouraged me to be my own person and chase my own dreams. She didn’t want me to feel constrained by gender roles. I feel fortunate to live in a time when motherhood is a choice, not an obligation. I admire my peers who have chosen to have kids, but I’m content to enjoy the rich mother-daughter relationship I have with my mom without feeling obliged to replicate it.
Carin Bondar, Blogger and Filmmaker for Scientific American, the David Suzuki Foundation and Huffington Post, @drbondar
As a working mother of 4 very young children, I don’t have much time to reflect on much – this stage of my life is pretty much dedicated to surviving. I do know that once I decided that I really wanted to start having children (when I was almost finished my PhD) – my life seemed oddly empty. It was as though I realized that something tremendous was missing and I became completely obsessed with wanting them. Now that I have them (yes all 4 of them!) there are many times when I feel completely overwhelmed and exhausted, but I will always remember the feelings of desire to have a family. I know that my life would be empty and incomplete without my lovely babies.
Jeanne Garbarino, Biology Editor at Double X Science and Rockefeller University Postdoc, @JeanneGarb
For five years, I have been a mother. I have learned – and am still learning – some very difficult lessons on time management and prioritization, on choosing my battles wisely, and on being ok when things aren’t exactly perfect (or even decent). But, to be honest, these are all lessons I really needed to have in my life. Though it might seem a bit counterintuitive, the mostly delightful chaos associated with rearing my girls has given me more focus. For me, motherhood is more of a state of being, and it has helped me learn how to not sweat the small stuff (for the most part), to be more mindful of the present, and to think more about the future. Oh, and motherhood also gives me that special golden ticket to buy really cool games and toys (because who isn’t interested in seeing what Doggie Doo is all about), as well as provides a dependable companion for roller coaster rides.
Motherhood had made me stand in my living room as my kids run around me and think how odd it is that I protect these three little persons. Motherhood has made me weep at the sight of children hurt or hungry; has made me rageful at a world where monsters are free; has made me face my own capacity for anger; and it has graced me with random gifts like hysterical laughter over blueberry waffles at the breakfast table.