I don’t know what I’ve written in previous Mother’s Day posts. Tears, pain, joy, gratefulness, love.
The whole caboodle.
Mother’s Day is best sidled up to when someone is missing. It’s not about gifts or even about being special.
Perhaps it’s about remembering the duties. Perhaps it’s seeing the space or choosing not to.
They all did special things for me today. I was out, doing something I needed to do that will mostly benefit most of them. I could tell you but they are a pile of words I don’t have tonight. Words I need to do better.
The simplest gift was this.
He made it at nursery early in the week, told me about it and gave it to me with huge excitement.
The best bit though was the telling.
“‘Mummy, I made you a secret card!”
“Did you? Does it have a flower on it?”
Cue total wonder in his face…
Being a mummy is magic. But while I can get away with still being magic, I’m happy to pull the stunts. ?????