It’s Mother’s Day, again. If you’re a parent of under-10s, you’ll know exactly what this means: small children jumping on you excitedly at 6am, yelling (as though it’s Christmas or something), “Wake up! Wake up! It’s MOTHER’S DAY!”
“Yes,” you’ll groan. “It is.” You’ll turn over and close your eyes, trying desperately to drift back to the dream you were having where Mother’s Day is spent on a beach in the Bahamas, entirely alone, with a book and a piña colada, or five.
I jest (do I?). The real fun of Mother’s Day is being handed ‘breakfast in bed’ on a tray. Breakfast in bed, though – because they are small and don’t know about smoked salmon or Bloody Marys yet – means a bowl of soggy Cheerios and a plastic beaker of water, because they’re not allowed to use the kettle to make coffee (and by god you need coffee).
They’ll sit there and watch you from a distance of approximately 10cm while you tuck in, then will hand you a prized finger-painting, whereupon your pint-sized Picasso will ask if you know what it is. They’ll look at you with expectant Bambi eyes and a face to rival one of Botticelli’s cherubs, and you will guess a rabbit (wrong) or a sheep (wrong-er). And of course, it’s actually an abstract interpretation of the Earth and the love your child has for you floating above it, in clouds, and also something to do with Moana.
Mother’s Day. You’ll spend it doing one of two things: taking your children to the park, because they’re “bored”, or cooking for your mother-in-law. That’s just how it is, and how it has always been, and how it will always be, you think.
Memorable Mother’s Day gifts don’t have to cost anything at all. Some of the best and most poignant mementos I’ve received would be classed as a little on the... unusual side. But they were free – and I’ll remember them forever.
My first ever Mother’s Day coincided with my first day back to work after being on maternity leave – an emotional return, if ever there was one (I renamed the day, tearfully, as “No Mother’s Day”). It helped enormously to receive a link to a sped-up video of everything my husband and tiny daughter had done that day, including making homemade cards they gave to me when I got home.
When my daughter was three, I was working again – but was sent a surprise audio file of her ‘first song’ (she’d changed the lyrics to ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to ‘Mummy Mummy Give Me A Cuddle, Mummy Mummy Give Me A Kiss’. No, you’re crying).
And when she was six, she and her dad made a video of her rapping along to Eric B. & Rakim’s Microphone Fiend. She’d learned the first couple of verses off by heart and changed the words of the chorus to: ”’cause I’m in E-F-F-E-C-T, it’s a Mother’s Day song that I made for my mummy.” I absolutely loved it.
Then there was the absolute, pull-it-out-of-the-park, send-me-to-my-grave-with-a-smile-on-my-face, belter of a Mother’s Day. The day I spent... completely... alone.
That’s right (I can hear you gasping): UTOPIA. My husband took a day off work, took the kids and sent me packing. I was so overjoyed to have an entire day without a small human clinging to my leg while I had a wee, or drank a cup of tea, that I went for it – big time.
I took myself off to the V&A museum to see an exhibition, had a late (second) breakfast (the first one being, of course, the bowl of Cheerios and beaker of water), went shopping, had a swim in an outdoor heated (allow it) lido, headed to the cinema and then went to a quiet café to read a book.
Yes, I spent hours without anyone asking me to wipe their nose or cook three different types of frozen potato product. And it was glorious.
So – my advice? This Mother’s Day, give the special woman in your child’s life what she wants, what she really, really wants: breakfast in bed and a crap (but adorable) picture – then some time to herself. And when she gets back? Lots of kisses and cuddles and a glass of wine.
Perfect.