I doubt I will sleep tonight, the anticipation may be overwhelming to say the least. For tomorrow it is all going to happen, tomorrow is the big day…
The creators of the hugely lucrative Valentines Day (and the not so successful grandparents day) are rolling out for another year, the much awaited Mothering Sunday.
Tomorrow I get to be a mother for a whole day! It must be true because Clinton cards have it on huge banners all across the store and Tesco have metamorphed into a garden centre, even next to the chicken carcasses you are merrily reminded that it is the day to be a mum with the inappropriate point of sale equipment which is overflowing with tulips and their cheap date daffodils.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind having a day in my honour; but I am a bit miffed about sharing it with a million trillion others.
If I am frank my perfect mothers day would probably involve diamonds, a bucket of gin and a spa with some loin cloth attired chap attending to my every need.
But it would seem the real irony of mothers day is one must spend it with their offspring.
It is also encouraged that you should go out to dine which in my book is often one of the most stressful activities I do with my three small people. Unless our chosen food establishment is hut shaped and serves food astonishingly high in calories content the meal is destined to go only way…
Up shit creek.
At some point twin boy will reveal the contents of his meal, regurgitated twice, to twin girl, who will then proceed to shatter glass with her ear piercing scream. I will then begin to sob silently as my only saving grace, a nice Pinot blush starts to drip off the table since its goblet has disintegrated into thousands of pieces. As I bend to retrieve some spare shards of glass BB will seize the opportunity to empty her meal on my head and I will return to the table with macaroni for hair and a cheesey chin.
I will struggle to sleep tonight, the fear may keep me awake…