Mothers Day , Schhmuthers Day

Hi all.  Gosh, it is just one thing after another round here.  I am just getting over Valentines Day, (which incidentally was a hastily booked meal in a restaurant, where we were both way too tired to talk and the food was crap – a bloody good waste of a babysitter when you are falling asleep in your fondue and both home for the Ten O’Clock News)  – when along comes

Mothers Day

Now I am all for the sentiment.  My eldest child has thus far made me 7 cards, all with varying themes of sellotape and stickers, and I shall treasure them all.  She keeps telling me she loves me and she will make me a cup of tea on Sunday.  Which although is wholly untrue (chidren – kettles – no), is still very sweet.

My youngest child came home from Nursery today with a Pirate (?!) card for me and a Bath Bomb.  ‘…best for the bin, not the bath.. they didn’t smell quite how we had hoped..’ a member of staff told me.



The love my munchkins have for me will not suddenly increase because  it is Mothers’ Day – I will simply enjoy them trying to demonstrate it to me.

Now, if we are talking presents , what I would LOVE for Mothers’ Day is

  • A lie in
  • A giant box of Milk Tray

What I will get will be

  • A lie in of sorts.  The Cyclist will forget to close the bedroom door and I will lie in bed, unable to sleep listening to the mayhem downstairs and resisting the edge to start shouting ‘she doesn’t LIKE cornflakes…how long have you known her?’.  No one will close the babygate and so even if I do drift off, the dog will come in and lick me.  The children will take it in turns to come upstairs and say   ‘Are you having a lovely lie in Mummy?’ .  Then they will start to come up together.  I will resist the urge to shout downstairs “What the bloody hell are you doing?!?!?’.  At which point The Cyclist will feign surprise that the children are indeed upstairs and quickly close his Cycle Route Plan App.
  • I will not get a cup of tea.
  • If very lucky, I may get a present.  It will be perfume I don’t like.  I have worn the same perfume for years.  He should know, he bought the first bottle.  I have told him not to waste his money and to buy me some Milk Tray.  He never does. It’s the pressure you see, he falls for all the commercial crap.

You see Mothers’ Day is held out to be some magical day of rest for Mummies akin to something like a national bank holiday.  Of , course , it is not.  Because us Mummies keep everything running and this day is no exception.

I will be spending mine with my Mother-in-law.  I am googling Days Out as we speak (she doesn’t do restaurants).  The Cyclist does not have the thought, foresight or time to do this.  I have bought the gift, the flowers, the card.  I will devote my day to making sure she is fussed, fed and favoured.

I won’t see my own Mum.  My lovely Turnip of a Father has chosen this weekend to take her away for the night without giving a second thought to the gaggle (and there are a lot of us ) of grown up children lining the garden path waiting to see her.

The miles between us and the obstacle that is Work mean I have been unable to see her this week. (Sad face).

So my idea is this – we have a second Mothers’ Day. A bit like Boxing Day, where everything is a bit more laid back, where it doesn’t matter if you don’t get dressed til midday or at all , where you can lie on the couch eating Terry’s Chocolate Orange with the kids and your nearest and dearest can come over for a left-over-buffet. Where there is no pressure or expectation.  Where everything is a bit more relaxed, and ,well, real. 

Back in Our World, lie-in’s are not what there cracked up to be anyway.

Are they?




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s