Yesterday morning I sent Some Guy In Paris the following message:
At the risk of sounding like your mother: “Ring your mother. It’s Mother’s Day”. Although, if I was *really* going to sound like your mother, I’d have to say “Ring me. It’s Mother’s Day”. But then I’d have to add that you don’t actually have to ring me [the NDM] but your actual mum. BECAUSE IT’S MOTHER’S DAY.
What some people might regard as out-and-out harassment, I consider to be a gentle nudge of sorts. Having spent years living “abroad” (darling), where Mothers Day was celebrated on a different date from Australia or, worse still, not celebrated at all, I often missed it altogether. A reminder, like the one I gave Some Guy Living In Paris, would have been much appreciated, if just a teensy weensy bit annoying.
Now that my children are “in the system”, I’m on Cruise Control. I’ve got the teachers priming my children and weeks of the furtive whispering of “Plans” (always done in that Stage Whisper-kind of way where you could hear from the back of His Majesty’s) and the not-very-successful concealment of large packages behind the back to remind me that Mother’s Day is indeed a-comin’.
In fact, last week Mr Justice just came out and asked me directly for money to buy something at the school’s Mother’s Day Stall. I decided to overlook any etiquette issues inherent in asking for money to buy a gift for the person you’re asking money from and gave him $5.
“Oh, $2 is enough,” he replied.
“Why don’t you take $5 just in case $2 is not enough,” I said, hopefully.
“Oh, no it’s okay. I saw something for $2 that I want to buy you,” he insisted. But I put $5 in his school bag “just in case”.
Cut to: Mother’s Day when I open a lavender-scented candle set, which he handed to me, explaining how he’d wanted to – but been unable to – buy a “special super-strong light so you can still read a book when there is a power cut!!”, which might just well be an angle the makers of the Itty Bitty Book Light might like to explore with their marketing plan.
My husband gave the candle pride of place in the bedroom until I pointed out it was an anti-aphrodisiac. At which point he swiftly snuffed it out and spirited it away to take pride of place in the toilet.
In any case, Mr Justice had planned Mother’s Day very carefully – his schedule of events, which I found carefully hidden in one of my recipe books, read:
1. Cake 2.00PM
2. Song: Happy Mother’s Day to you! 7:00AM
3. Flowers 7.01AM
4. Realax 5:30PM
5. Roast Dinner 5.40PM
6. Card 7.01PM
I don’t know about anyone else but I particularly like the fact that there is a whole 10 minutes allocated for “realax” before the roast dinner is served. Considering how much time I usually get for relaxing it was at least realistic.
As it turned out, not much went to schedule on the day itself. The three children did sing “Happy Mother’s Day to you…” but neither the cake nor the flowers transpired and the “roast dinner” got downgraded to a barbeque. However, I managed to milk that relaxation period for more than ten minutes, I can tell you.
In my humble opinion, it would seem that the whole point of “Mothering Sunday” (as it is known in some parts of the world) is to do as little mothering as you can get away with. And for one day of the year, I think that is entirely acceptable. But perhaps not to the point you find yourself drunk at 7:30PM at night, on twitter, gibbering about dead cats. But that’s a story for another day.
To all the Mothers Of The World who are doing a sometimes difficult, often underrated and always important job: hope you all got a chance to sit back, “realax” and be spoilt. Happy Mother’s Day.