Skip to main content

The marvellousness of Motherhood

Happy Mother's Day, fellow matriarchs. Although personally, it's highly likely I'd have forgotten if the the kids hadn't woken me up with excited demands for large amounts of moolah.

"Whaddyaneedmoneyfor?" I mumbled, trying to pull the pillows over my head to escape the cruel daylight seeping through the curtain gaps (mental note: must buy blackout lining).
"For the Mother's Day sale at school of course!" they shrieked, leaping up and down on the bed and, accidentally I'm sure, squishing my left ankle.

So I eagerly await hometime in anticipation of a being presented with a bar of squished soap and/or lavender scented talcum powder, together with beaming smiles and squirming pride. I will, of course, flatter them to kingdom come about their excellent taste, their general wonderfulness and my soaring happiness as a result of said wonderfulness. Although it won't be much of an effort, I must say - those girls could present me with a piece of poo in a matchbox and I'd still be delighted. Such is the joy of motherhood.

Have a good day, y'all.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Feel the love, YLM. One day, they might forget and your foolish heart will be broken!

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...