<Oliver's cheese sandwich>

By the time our son Oliver was three, he had figured out how to slide out of bed at six-thirty a.m. and trundle down the hallway to our room—hungry and ready for something fun. Believe me, I wanted to get up. Really. But while the spirit was whispering the Good Mom thing in my ear—teddy-bear shaped pancakes, fruit salad mounded up like an ice cream sundae—my flesh was dead. Twelve-hour night shifts ending at one a.m. will do that to you. Good luck with the dawn patrol pancakes.

The solution. . . before I went to bed I made his favorite food: a cheese and mayonnaise sandwich, Oliver style. Soft white bread, hold the crusts, the sandwich cut into quarters. My treat would be waiting for him, wrapped and sitting on a plastic plate on the bottom shelf of the fridge, along with a partially filled cup of milk. The next morning, before the sun came up, we’d hear the patter of feet and then a small wedge of light would hit our room from the fridge as Oliver retrieved the plate and cup and brought it into our room to settle into several hours of Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers at the foot of our bed. Each day I had to shake off a groggy hit of shame when I woke to see our son in front of the TV. . . but I needed the sleep, and we learned to love Mr. Rogers.

Fourteen years later, the tables have turned. On weekends Oliver often stays out until one, and it’s me who gets the ball rolling by six-thirty.

This Saturday I was the first one up. Drinking a cappuccino and reading the paper, I heard the unexpected heavy patter of Oliver’s feet coming down the stairs at eight-oh-five, followed by, “Shit! Oh, hi mom. I screwed up—I’m late. My college essay-writing workshop is this morning and I turned off my alarm.”

I gave him my cappuccino, added a fresh shot of espresso and asked if I could make him a cheese, tomato and mayonnaise sandwich. He declined the addition of tomato, as I knew he would—just Cabot extra-sharp cheddar cheese on sourdough bread smeared with Hellman’s mayonnaise.

The four-block drive to the high school was sweet. He was in the middle of his journey to college, a journey away from us, and he was clutching the same cheese and mayonnaise sandwich (okay, with a bread upgrade) that had given him his first steps of independence fourteen years earlier. It was just a cheese and mayonnaise sandwich, but it was perfect.

The Perfect Cheese and Mayonnaise Sandwich

For the 3 year old

Put two slices white sandwhich bread on a cutting board and generously smear, or to taste, both sides with Hellman's mayonnaise. Lay an ounce of thinly sliced Cabot cheddar cheese on one slice and top with the second. Cut off the crusts, cut into quarters, diagonally and set on a plastic plate. Serve immediately, or wrap in plastic for later.

For the 17 year old

Put four slices of crusty sour dough bread on a cutting board and generously smear all slices with Hellman's mayonnaise. Lay three to four ounces of sliced Cabot extra-sharp cheddar cheese on two of the slices and top with the remaining slices. Cut in half any way you want, or if they're traveling, keep whole. Wrap in paper towels and hand to your teenager.