The Mother’s Day that was….

The Mother’s Day that was….

My kids are ace.

Although don’t let them catch me using that word, as apparently “ace” is terribly out of fashion and utterly cringeworthy when uttered out loud.  Multiplied by a zillion when said by your 40 year old mother.

Unless I say it to my seven year old – as she still thinks I can do no wrong.

But they really are.  All of the time, my little family of four causes me so much joy that when I am not shouting at them, I feel utterly blessed.

Mother’s Day this year was epic.

Not normally a big day for us, less so since I have been a single parent, because without the other parent there to stir up a fuss, it can often pass along quietly.

Last year I didn’t even have the kids, as I buggered up my weekend planner.

But this year saw a renewed energy into the celebration of me, as a mother.

The bigger kids, now at an age to walk into the village to purchase gifts alone, and armed with their own debit cards, saw fit to go shopping, just for me.

The little one, determined not to be left out, raided her piggy bank, enabled the help of my best friend, and strolled into town behind them, gossiping at a million miles an hour.

Leaving me, home alone, free to open an early gift that came through the post, from the awesome folks at The Old Church, who sent a beautiful box filled with Mother’s Day treats.  From Lush bath bombs, to a new book, and some rather scrummy chocolates.

Hey, they may not be my kids, but they are welcome to be adopted in if they keep sending things that force me to relax, read and eat!!!

But I digress.

My actual children fell back into the house, full of ‘shhh’, and ‘stay out of my room’.  Then I heard excited elephant stamps as they tore up the stairs to write on cards, wrap presents with parcel tape and hide gifts under beds.

There is something infinetly more pleasurable about your kids wanting to treat you, rather than being coerced to by the other parents.

It also made me laugh out loud when my son shouted down the stairs,

We didn’t go to Wilko’s Mum; our money, so we went to the posh shops!

God love that boy.

Mother’s Day morning started with a serene feel.

My bedroom door was quietly closed at 6.30am, so the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen was only a distant ringing.  At 7am, a steaming mug of tea was carried carefully by the smallest one, and a feast of turkey rashers, beans, poached eggs, and toast was placed in front of me by the older pair.

It’s even hot mum – we know how to use the microwave now…

This harks back to Mother’s Day 2016 when no one knew beans were meant to be served warm….

It was the breakfast of queens, I savored every mouthful, aware it will be a year before I get such a treat again.

The gifts made me cry, each one lovingly bought with me in mind.  A new thriller novel, tulips, earrings I can wear to the gym, more chocolates, fantastically funny signs and candles.

I sat on my bed, this time last week, blissfully happy.

Wrapping my lovely little brood in my bed with me, appreciating every second of them.

Then the boy child accidentally kicked the small child in the head, the gifts tumbled to the ground, screaming followed, the dog went mad, and the eldest girl rolled her eyes and left the room.

Bliss is overrated!

Hope you all had a splendid Mothering Sunday!

 

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