A Mothers’ Day Musing

We are all different. Our life experiences are all different. Our life expectations are all different. And so, for mothers, the celebration of their role be different.

I reflect upon my experience, and wonder about yours.

I grew up in a tight knit family where Mothers’ and Fathers’ Day were almost as important as birthdays. We’d creep out into the dewy green garden at dawn – our mother’s own masterpiece – with our father, to pick a few favourite blooms to decorate the breakfast tray. Dad would help with a hot cup of tea or coffee, and we would scrape some untidy blobs of butter and jam across a couple of squares of dry toast. By the time we were ready, the warm drink was barely that and the toast was cold, but I knew our mum would be sat up in her bed eagerly awaiting it, because three smiling faces (shepherded by my dad) delivered it with a bucketload of love.

Over the years, my little family have developed our own way of celebrating Mother’s Day. Some things never change. Their dad supervises a floral masterpiece from the garden, while my eldest coordinates the menu (very similar to the one my brothers and I used to deliver). I sit up in bed eagerly awaiting my three little smiling faces with their grand presentation, just as my mother did.

This year we followed breakfast with something a little different – a wander down to a quiet local beach with enough fishing rods and bait for a couple of hours of quality family time… And do you know what? This was my best one yet!

Whatever your experience or expectation, I’d love to hear about yours.

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