I don’t need a card to feel a Whole Lotta Love
Mother’s Day – shoving all those hallmark expectations into one day, and onto your offspring is never going to come up roses for you, as anyone who has ever cried at the planned joy of birthday/ anniversary/wedding/divorce party can testify, which is why I never really bother with it.
I’d forgotten about it anyway, as I had about the clocks going forward which is why it seemed very early when I was woken by Youngest Child placing a mug of tea on the table next to my bed. “Happy Mother’s Day!” she trilled.
“Aw nice. I’d forgotten.”
“Well, it’s your day, have a lovely one,” she says, bustling out of the room.
“A cup of tea to wake me. That is my dream scenario,” I warble on. “Did I tell you my dad brought my mum a cup of tea in a china cup in bed every morning and I always thought that was …”
The front door slams. She’s gone.
But it’s OK because my mobile rings and it’s Eldest Child:
“Happy Mother’s Day Mum. I’m on my way to work so I can’t come round, but I just wanted to tell you how much we all love you,” he says (I note his use of the all-encompassing ‘we’, very Eldest Child style, official spokesperson and covering for siblings who may be busy/ forgetful). And we chat as he walks. Aw.
Cards and greetings and occasions are not something I’m fixated about anyway, but that was nice.
I drink the rest of my tea and scroll my mobile, until there’s a knock at the door. I get up and open it.
Middle Child. He steps in and gives me a hug. Since I’m now primed, I find myself saying, “Happy Mother’s Day” when he doesn’t.
“What? Oh yeah. I’m not feeling well and you were close,” he says, “but yeah. Love You,” he says as he heads for the sofa, spreads out and drifts off to sleep.
“Wait. I’m going out for a walk with a friend. It’s spring. The sun is shining. But I’ve only got one set of keys because SOMEONE keeps losing them!”
No response.
I dress, then drop a mobile onto the cushion next to his ear. Led Zeppelin, Whole Lotta Love, full pelt, lock the door and slip quietly out.