I’m still not used to celebrating Mother’s Day.
Whenever I see the posters being rolled out of shop windows in February, I always make a mental note that I need to do something for my mum. It still takes me a few seconds to then twig that I’ll be celebrating as a mum too.
To me, it still feels like a bonus birthday. Another day to treat me and a definite perk of motherhood. Luckily, we’re still at a stage where it’s largely planned and executed by my husband (who, as I know he will be reading, does need to use this as a reminder to get his own mum something too).
For Mother’s Day, I am yet to receive a novelty item hand selected by my daughter. I see them lining shops and actually, they seem to be improving in quality. That, or my standards are diminishing as to what is an acceptable gift. I’m sure I will cherish them with the same love, care and affection as that bestowed onto the gifts I gave my mum.
We used to buy my mum all sorts – usually with an embellished ‘mum’ on it somewhere. I remember a troll that she kept for years on her chest of drawers – as my sister was particularly obsessed by trolls (the original ones obvs).
Handmade with love
I am also yet to be given an item that’s been made by my daughter, but it’s only a matter of time. Sure, we get pictures, but I’m talking about sculptures, pen pots and the like. The jackpot of motherhood. The tat.
Speaking of which, a few years ago, my parents went through an unceremonious dumping of all of our tat that had built up in their house over the years. Including all of my beautiful creations I had made in woodwork. Needless to say, me and my sisters are not gifted with tools, or 3D art (okay… me more so than them). I always set my aspirations way higher than my actual ability. I tried and often failed. Luckily, my talents lie elsewhere in life, but they were all made with love.
I remember a clay block with a Picasso-esk face, with one eye popping larger than the other and large sausage like lips acting as a doorstop for years. I do know however that that particular monstrosity wasn’t my own creation.
What that does show you however, is that what goes around, comes around. I know it’s coming for me and I’m sure it’ll take pride of place.
Sure, the price is heavy for this particular perk of gift giving for motherhood. The years of sleepless nights. The insane sleep deprivation (technically the same as my previous point, but that’s sleep deprivation for you). The new grey hairs and palpitating eyebrow that is an affirmation that yes, I do need to work on my patience a teensy bit more.
What do I want?
So what do mums really want for Mother’s Day? If we could just whisper it… Sleep? That’s a given.
The unfortunate truth is that our biggest wish of sleep is often the thing we’re least likely to receive. I’m not talking about a grateful lie in until 7.30am. I’m talking about a ‘binge-watch in bed till noon’ sort of day. AKA, living the dream. At least, living my dream.
But there’s a problem with this luxurious dream. Tiny people (AKA the reason we get to celebrate) tend to want to spend your special day with you, making it extra special. While they want to spend the day with you – instead of locked away in their rooms, we need to embrace it. They want to show you how special you are… at least for the first 15 minutes before they forget and want their bums wiped.
It goes without saying (but somehow I’m going to have to say it), but motherhood is INSANELY rewarding and tiring. We don’t do it for Mother’s Day. But it feels as if the world will frown on you if you accept that yes, the biggest gift for Mother’s Day is in fact, ironically, a day off from mothering… just not on Mother’s Day.
What would you ask for if it were no questions asked, no judgement for Mother’s Day? World peace?