Last week I purchased myself a super soft dressing gown and plonked it down on the kitchen table. “Here, this is my Mothers Day gift,” I told my husband.
Later that same day, when I picked my youngest girl up from kindy, I closed my eyes as she quickly stuffed her handmade gift into her bag. “I promise I won’t peek,” I declared.
Yesterday, I found myself in the supermarket with two of my children, my husband at the emergency room with our middle girl who had a raging fever and gastro. His plans to take them out shopping for me had been put on hold, so I took the eldest and youngest out instead. I was directed to the chocolate aisle and I turned my head, seemingly distracted, while they quickly picked something for me. “I’ll just grab this chocolate orange for myself,” I told them, smiling.
This morning, Mothers Day, and I awoke with a sore back. I’d slept in the bottom bunk to make room for my sick child. I awoke before everyone else. The house was quiet and I grew impatient so went in search of a stirring kid. Luckily, I found one and lay cuddling her for what felt like an eternity. And then I found another, waking from her slumber and I jumped into bed with her. And then finally, my middle child awoke and promptly presented me with a card which featured a “wee waterfall” and a “poo garden”. My husband made me crepes in bed and and I lay there with my kids, my heart full of gratitude. I let the tears fall gently onto my pillow, for I am lucky to be here.
There are kids down the street who are without their mum today. I miss her. I can not comprehend how much they must miss her and wish she was as at home with them spinning records, baking, hugging them tight, laughing and dancing. Her photographs would pepper my instagram feed and fill it with joy. It’s not right, she should be home.
There’s friends of mine who have recently lost their mothers, those who have lost children and those who wish they were spending this day with their own kids. And then there are those I do not know fighting their own battles. Today must be very hard for so many.
Mothers Day may not be as exciting as last year, which was spent in California. It might not be full of special adventures or fancy surprise presents. Instead, I am in my super fluffy robe, laying in a bed with freshly cleaned sheets, eating a custard tart. My husband has vacuumed the floor and put away all the washing, which appeals to my cleaning sensibilities. My children, one by one, have taken time out from their day to seek me out, crawl under the covers with me and snuggle up tight. And my girl is slowly getting better.
I am a lucky Mum, for I have my girls and they have me. And for that, I am extremely grateful, thus making today a perfectly wonderful Mothers Day.
To all those struggling today you are well and truly at the forefront of my mind.