Nothing says Mother’s Day like tacky gifts but bought with love
Around the same time every year, my brother Kevin humorously bellows out the same moans and groans when any mention of Mother or Father’s Day comes about. “It’s so pointless,” he utters, making sure mum or dad are within hearing distance. Of course, he’s only kidding (I think/hope), but my dad usually agrees. Like Kevin, he doesn’t like the nonsense of it all. If we’re going to commend him on his fatherly duties, it better be a no fuss affair: a fresh pair of socks and a sarcastic comment urging him to put his feet up for the day (a position he resumes on most days). That will do for him.
Now, when it comes to my mum, it’s a whole different story. Of course, the love we have for both is equal, but mum — in fact all mums — deserve way more than a sarky comment and pair of socks, and dads get that. There’s no ego-bruising going on here.
So, with tomorrow marking Mother’s Day in the UK, it seems fitting to write this column about all things ‘mum’; or more specifically, all things my mum.
For years, Mother’s Day has been a cash cow for shops, restaurants and greeting-card publishers. Mums the world over are endlessly gifted tacky knick-knacks — knickknacks they don’t want but yet always receive with a smile — by their wide-eyed kids.
If there was a list in existence ranking kids on their ability to hunt down the gaudiest tat that money could buy, Kevin and I would have firmly claimed a Top 3 spot back in the day.
I remember one year, while on a trip to Galway in Ireland, we were out shopping with mum. We were about seven-and nine-years-old at the time. Mother’s Day was approaching so it was mission: ‘find mum a present’.
As my brother showcased his finest espionage skills making sure mum didn’t spy on what we were up to, I ran into a nearby budget store (we had pocket money to spend, not wages), and picked up the ‘perfect’ memento.
I remember it vividly. It was a little ceramic figurine, probably 10cm in height, and depicted a little jazz musician playing his bass. The paintwork was poor; so much so, you could barely make out the features on his face. His bass had a little chip on it too, but it was his bright red lips that caught my eye. I think it set us back about Dh30 in all.
Now when I say ‘perfect’, I use the term loosely. Was mum a fan of jazz music? Nope. Never heard her play anything of the sort in my life. Did she like collecting figurines? Again, nope. Yet, somehow, that was the gift we chose to say, ‘we love you mum’. That year, we repaid her 365 days of excellent parenting by way of a little jazz musician and his bust-up bass.
When she unwrapped the garish gift, her beaming smile told us she loved it. She made us feel like we hit the jackpot! And that right there, folks, is why mums are awesome; and why my mum is awesome.
I remember the little fella taking pride of place on our mantelpiece (it’s still there to this day). She could have hated the sight of it — in fact I’m certain anyone with eyes would have hated it — but mum put it there because it was a gift from her little sprogs. That’s what made it special to her.
No mother wants another ill-fitted blouse in her wardrobe, another bottle of cheap perfume on her dressing table, or a dust collecting jazz musician ruining that mantelpiece she worked carefully to curate. But that’s often what they get, and they own it like no other could. They have this ability to nurture and accept, and that’s what makes mothers, mums. I may be a seven-hour flight away from mine but that bond will always remain. When I began telling my colleague about some funny story my mum and I were mulling over during a phone call once, she made a passing comment about how sweet our relationship was. And it got me thinking. My mum is definitely my best friend. I even joke to my friends about how I’d rather hang out with her than with them. She’s definitely my number one, no doubt about it.
Once, I even told her that she made me fear becoming a parent. Initially she took offence, but I explained that it was a fear by way of compliment. See, I think she’s got the whole mother thing down to a tee and I wonder how I will ever live up to someone like her? That’s the question I always ask myself, but she reassures me I’ll do just fine.
She’s one of the sweetest people in the world, but also one of the funniest people I know. My brother and I are often left in fits of laughter with the things she comes out with — unintentionally. And more often than not we’re laughing at her, not with her. We call them ‘Bernie-isms’ (her name, Bernadette).
One such scenario came about while the three of us were watching a quiz show on TV. The host asked the question: Which of these ‘Rupert’s’ is the oldest: Murdoch or Bear (‘Murdoch’ being Rupert Murdoch and ‘bear’ being Rupert the Bear). But that part went completely over mum’s head. Before we even had a chance to let the question sink in, she excitedly answered: “Well I’ve never heard of Murdoch the Bear, so it must be Rupert the Bear.” Yep. That was her answer and she was sticking to it. ‘Give us strength’ was our first reaction — followed by laughter and pointing, of course. When we enlightened her to the errors of her ways, she immediately regretted her hasty, confident (but totally wrong) answer. But that’s mum all over and it’s the most endearing quality ever. So, Happy Mother’s Day Ma, keep doing your thing because we wouldn’t have you any other way.