Most of us love our mums and are reasonably confident that our children love us too – even when they’re being ungrateful little rats who don’t see why they should put their own soiled clothing in the laundry basket.
After all we are mothers every day of the year, not the one where we get to have breakfast in bed and to admire hand-made offerings from our little darlings. Not, obvs, that breakfast being made for us isn’t a good thing but why do we only get it once a year. Twice if birthdays happen to fall on a convenient day. It would be much better if we remembered to love, thank and appreciate our mothers every day of the year – or at least when they are not expecting it.
Except, sometimes that happens in my house and goes like this:
Me: “That’s wonderful, thanks very much. What do you want?”
Son: “Nothing, I just thought you’d like it.”
Me: “I do. I love it. But what have you done?”
Son: “Nothing. Can’t I just get something for you without having done something wrong?”
Me: “Of course you can. Is there something you want to talk about?”
Son: “NO. It’s just for you, that’s all. I thought you’d like it. Why do you always suspect me?”
Me. “Sorry. Mostly I don’t.”
Son. “You do.”
Then there’s the gin paradigm. Many variants have appeared on social media this year.
It goes like this:
Mother: “I don’t want your crappy home-made tat, your nasty cheap pink present, your rash-inducing bubble bath or your chocolates/tulips. They’re not very nice and you only bought them because the supermarket said so. Instead, get me gin. Gallons of the stuff. I bloody love gin. Child, you ruined my life and broke my body, the very least you can do is encourage my unhealthy relationship with alcohol.
Not, of course, that I’m in any way, averse to gin, or presents for that matter, but it might be worth pausing to think about the kind of example it sets out the children that we love every day of the year.
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