Often I wonder if I’m a good Mum? Perhaps the only real measure is reflected in what sort of young men and women our children become, and whether or not our own Mums would be proud of the job we’ve done. I’m thinking about my Mum… It must be Mother’s Day.
Missing my Mum on Mother’s Day
My mother would have been 92 on 30 April; she always proudly reminded me she was the same age as the Queen.
I miss my Mother.
With 6 brothers and no sisters, and now 4 sons and no daughters, I feel at times rather bereft of female company (perhaps I’m being punished for all the terrible things I’ve said about men in my lifetime :-).
You can imagine that after 6 sons my parents were fairly delighted they finally got the recipe right. My mother adored sewing and ensured that everyone including my brothers were always immaculately groomed; so to finally have a daughter to proudly show off her craft and attention to detail must have been of great excitement for her.
However, with 6 older brothers it meant that I had a strong tendency to be a little tom boy and much to my mother’s dismay my interest in smocked delicate frocks and patent leather shoes was limited to church on Sunday, usually under duress.
I adored my mother.
I remember as a little girl praying that I would die before my parents, as I could never imagine life without them. Now that’s a reality, and has been for a considerable period of time. Although the grief is not raw, there are many occasions when I wish I could pick up the phone to offload because the one thing that mothers are, are great listeners (or at least they pretend to be!).
Mother’s always know best (at least they think they do)
They are key members of that exclusive group in this world who are genuinely interested in when your children achieve those very predictable milestones like teething, sleeping through the night, their first day of school, and so the list goes on.
The mention of these events at any gathering, whether it be of a social nature or perhaps at a work function, quite often bring sighs of total boredom, or worse still a sudden departure.
And don’t ever dare to boast about your children’s achievements for fear of being considered incapable of discussing anything stimulating other than motherhood!
My mother was incredibly proud of my sporting achievements; it gave her a real sense of purpose and pride. And I know that, given the opportunity, she would relish skiting about her grandsons’ exploits, even those that aren’t quite so meritorious. She would often say, ‘I can’t walk down the street without someone stopping me Susan and congratulating me on your achievements.’ And that’s why she secretly loved strolling through the main street of Rotorua as often as she could!
I appreciated my mother’s advice although I didn’t always necessarily agree; in fact we often locked horns, quite possibly (dare I admit it), because we had rather similar personalities.
She used to get up my nose with her theories on bringing up babies – mostly because she was undoubtedly right and I didn’t have the good grace to admit it!
When my eldest was born she insisted that mother and baby stay at home to establish a routine. I think I was so shell-shocked with the arrival of our first child that I literally took her at her word and locked myself away from the world. She had me laden with cloth nappies and I never had the heart to say ‘I don’t use them’, so would hide the disposables when she came to visit.
I persisted with breast feeding against her advice, even though my son continued to lose weight and both mother and baby were miserable.
Incessantly my mother reminded me that all 7 of us were bottle fed and it didn’t do us any harm. So she was incredibly smug when I reluctantly gave up breast feeding, put Julian on the bottle, and he flourished like a mushroom.
There was advice about everything from toilet training to birth control – you name it she had an opinion.
Who needed Plunket when you had a mother who was Florence Nightingale and Dr Spock rolled into one. I could hardly challenge her credentials when she had raised seven children and worked full time without a washing machine, dishwasher, microwave or any of the mod cons that we have access to today.
What I admire most about my Mum
Years later I have come to appreciate what I admired most about my mother. It was her great love of life and living in the moment, in essence she was a social animal.
Whilst as a teenager it was embarrassing for your mother to be the last to leave the party or to be the first and most energetic person on the dance floor… it was who she was – someone who loved being the centre of attention. Someone who would strike up a conversation with anyone.
I think I have inherited that trait as my sons are always complaining about me talking to people at random. As a child, our family always had visitors, with an open house policy where you could always get a drink and a meal (usually steak, egg and chips – it wasn’t called Tui’s Diner for nothing!) no matter what time of the day or night it was.
When I ask the boys what they remember about my mum, they talk about an old lady in a rest home who gave them Pinky Bars.
Someone who was so different from the energetic vibrant woman I knew and loved.
When my father died she gradually deteriorated, she felt cheated that the life of retirement that they had dreamed of was cut so short, she lost her dancing partner, her drinking buddy and her soul mate.
And while many people go on to create new lives for themselves, my mum never did. And I am sad that my sons never got to enjoy, and experience, the real fun-loving woman their grandmother was.
Each year when we celebrate Mother’s Day I always remind all my friends whose mums are still with them to cherish every moment, to tell them how much they’re loved, and how important they are in their lives; and not to take that wonderful and unique relationship for granted.
