Mother’s Day. Where I Don’t Ask For Much Really.

I’m not talking about pampering spa days and drowning in bouquets of flowers. I’m not talking about jewellery and lunches in establishments with white linen tablecloths.* With Mother’s Day coming up next weekend, this is how I’d like my ideal day to go:

  • The pair of small boys would gain empathy overnight and spend Mother’s Day easing my passage through the day, offering me hugs, kisses and sustenance at intervals.
  • I’d be let sleep until 10 am, then shower and dress before anyone asks me any questions apart from “Tea or coffee?”
  • I would remember to call my own mum and I would have sent her a gorgeous floral arrangement. I’m a perfect mother in this whole scenario and a perfect daughter.
  • Not once in the entire day would I be required to wipe a dirty surface, bum, or snotty nose.
  • Someone else would assume full responsibility for the leaving-the-house-checklist. Hats, coats, snacks, water, nappies, wipes, kitchen sink … There would be no constant screeching demand for said snacks as they appear during this process.
  • I’d be brought for brunch somewhere cool. There’d be no stress waiting 10 minutes for a menu and 20 minutes for food to arrive knowing there’s only so long a toddler will be happy in a high chair. Both boys would be so cherub-cheeked and charming that people would stop and coo “What lovely children” at me. We’d be evenly spaced around a table with no one’s food or cutlery in danger from the smallest’s grabby throwy hands.
  • A cheeky glass of Prosecco would appear in front of me at some point to salute my mammying achievements. Actually, preferably this would happen at maybe three points in the day.
  • We would while away the afternoon wandering through an exhibition of some sort, children scampering delightedly about in awe of art.  (Rather than grievously assaulting the kitchen table and all nearby blank surfaces with crayons at home).  Perhaps we would pass through a park, where the boys would pick and present me with a single flower each. We don’t want to upset Parkie.
  • I would spend the evening reading the paper with my feet up and the fire lit while the kids played quietly on the rug in front of me. Nobody would use the sofa I’m sitting on as a trampoline at any stage. The pair of little darlings would kiss me goodnight and head off to bed appreciative of their wonderful mother.

*I’m not talking about them. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t happily receive and enjoy them.

A version of this post first appeared on now defunct Parent.ie
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