All posts tagged: Mother’s Day

It’s a Hallmark construction yes, but has layers to it still

My son ’17’ and I don’t do Mother’s Day; he did give me a hug, and we acknowledged that lots of other people around the world were celebrating it together. But this is the image I shared on my Facebook page that morning (no source credit sorry). “Motherhood” is such a loaded concept, with so many differing expectations, and I was grateful to be able to offer my tiny input into considering some of the non-dominant paradigms as illustrated. Then I went and got sweaty on a bush walk with the Tasmanian tiger who recently turned 50 and made us all do that bloody 4-day hike! It was so good to be in the forest, and commune with Mama Earth. We started by looking at the waterfall we were walking to the base of: The track was clear but narrow, and obviously heading down, but everything is easy among the trees when you’re NOT carrying a 15kg back pack: We got to the base after scrabbling up rocks like ninjas middle-aged ninjas, where recent rains …

Gift from teenage son…

I heard ‘Almost17’ in the shower at 6am (we had to leave for the airport at 7); he soon came into my room fully dressed, with still-damp hair, where I lay in bed reading before getting up. Him: Move over Mum. Me: [Really??] OK Sweetie. [Sliding over, slightly stunned, but pretending I’m cool…] Him: Happy Mother’s Day. Me: Thanks. You know I think it’s a load of Hallmark crap don’t you, but that’s still lovely, thank you. Are you bringing me peppermint tea in bed? Him: No, I’m too tired. I didn’t get home from the party till 1am. *Rolls on his side away from me*. Spoon me Mum. Me: [REALLY??] OK Sweetie. [Spooning behind him, completely stunned, gingerly resting my arm on top of him and the quilt because, you know, I’m Cool…] Him: No, properly Mum, under the covers. Please let me sleep for another 15 minutes. Me: Sure honey… *Lie there holding my baby boy as he begins to twitch and dream, breathing deeply. For how many nights did I hold him until …

Down the long lane

My mother, who lives in England, turned 80 on July 4. From Australia, I had organised a 3-day weekend get together in an old farmhouse on Dartmoor for our closest relatives, meaning 13 of us met up to celebrate. I hauled myself over to the UK, begrudging all those people who sleep easily on planes. Still, four good films in a row aren’t bad going. A couple of weeks before I left, I treated myself to a massage. As usual, I wondered why I don’t do it more often? It was such a lush experience, with hot white towels softly lowered over me, and warm wheat-bags resting along each limb, feeding the air with that fresh bread scent. No tinny dolphin music, just silence. It was in a private home, so no exterior noise, or impatient clients waiting outside the door for us to finish. The masseur created a wonderful sense of nurturing, with her deliberate, knowledgeable movements, and I sank into the experience. I’d had a horrible cough for a few days, so I …