Happy Mother's Day to those who have taken time to read this blog, and who have found themselves in the role of motherhood whether that role be brought about by biology, marriage, fostering, adoption, or just plain natural gravitation because you're the motherly type. What did you all get? Flowers? Chocolates? Breakfast in bed? Michael Buble CD? I got none of that. Let me tell you want I got. I got a mild dose of the flu. I believe my oldest gave it to me, and I've almost finished with it and Mr Bingells is about to have a turn.
As well as a nurturer and carer, the role of a parent is that of chauffeur. Yesterday I ferried my oldest to his soccer match, and my youngest to his musical theatre lesson (he doesn't normally have the lessons on a Saturday, but owing to circumstances there was an extraordinary lesson held yesterday). I collected a friend of my youngest to come over and spend time with him. When that time transitioned to sleepover mode, I drove him home to collect his PJs and toothbrush. I also had to drive my son to the cinema where he was to meet a group of friends and view the latest 'Alien' movie. One of his friends was already in the foyer, and I muttered to my son, 'Do you want to introduce me to your friend?' His reply was, 'Not particularly.' Not particularly. My son does not want me to meet his coterie. I know I am the mother of a teenager now. Years ago, I would collect him from preschool, and he would spring up from the mat and race across the room, arms outstretched and gleefully calling, 'Mum-meeeeee!' Now it's insinuated requests that I not go near him and his friends. Notwithstanding I was a potential embarrassment to him in front of his friends, I was still required to drive him home after the movie. This entailed standing well back in the foyer, and trying to blend in with the wall. Trying to get your son to see if any of his friends need a lift home is like trying to extract information from a tight lipped KGB agent. How is it going to embarrass him if I drive his friends home? I just have to blindly accept there is no logic or reason; it just WILL. It's kind of like having faith in a deity. You can neither see nor explain it, but you know it's there.
I try to give my sons advice. It's different for me than it was with my mother; it is the social media generation and I am raising boys. I have to tell them to be respectful, and not expect any future partner to partake in all of the activities they have viewed in some of the more nefarious footage I'm sure they have sneakily viewed when I am not around. So much different to my mother's advice, some of which I'm sure was fallacious. I will share some of her gems:
1. ' If a balloon bursts in your face, it will blind you.' I'm sure this is not true, but to this day I am terrified to blow up a balloon in case the awful thing bursts in my face. When younger, my children endured balloonless birthday parties for this reason.
2. 'You're pretty enough without makeup.' Not true at all. If you'd seen me this morning, clogged up and be-snotted, sans makeup, you'd have been begging me to get out the war paint. Or a paper bag.
3. 'Don't wash your bum and then wash your face.' Now this one makes sense. This is the truest, purest pearl of wisdom from the sagest oyster ever. I have always adhered to this dictum, this paradigm of sagacity, and have imparted it to my own children.
Baloney-riddled adages aside, my mother was a very funny and whacky woman, with a glorious soaring singing voice. She was always clowning around and loved the stage, traits which you can tell were passed on to my younger son (and me, too!). She died from cancer in 1993, aged just sixty-four. I look at my youngest and think how proud she'd have been of his wit and theatricality. I see my oldest and think how proud she would have been of his academic gifts. I grieve for the grandmother and grandsons relationship that never eventuated. Happy Mother's Day, Mum. I've done something right in my life. Written books, like you thought I would, and married a terrific loving guy who's helped me produce a couple of relatively decent human beings.
Happy Mother's Day again, however you've become a mum.
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