Carol’s Column

Every mother should have her day

TODAY is my day.

Mine and two billion other mothers throughout the world.

And it's high time too. It's taken a whole year to come round and I thought it would never come.

Long before I had children, I knew about Mother's Day. I mean I had a mother myself.

For years, every Mother's Day I took her breakfast in bed on a tray laid with a lacy cloth, a drooping rose in a skinny vase, soggy toast, lukewarm coffee and an egg that had died of old age.

I bought her African violets that never grew and drew her cards in pencil — I was a post-war baby and crayons were still on rationing.

I even gave her a bag of multi-coloured plural balls, known inoffensively as nigger balls, which we ate together.

When I had my first baby, I was ecstatic. Now, I'm a mother, I thought to myself — a unique thought that had only occurred to me and two-billion others.

I couldn't wait for the special day to come round.

In his first year Barry gave me chicken pox for Mother's Day.

Being of good farming stock from Stellenbosch where your riches are counted in children and grapes, son-number-two arrived on the scene shortly afterwards.

Which — Mother's Day a year later — gave me a wet kiss and colic from my elder and young son respectively.

My grandmother, herself a firm believer in Mother's Day, begat eight children in hope.

So I tried and soon there were four.

The nature of Mother's Day changed when my children attended nursery school.

In fact — it then arrived in my life with a bang. Literally when Barry and Ralph put on a fireworks display for the occasion and burnt down the packing-case club house it had taken their father 11 months to construct.

My family has always been characterised by three outstanding qualities — enthusiasm, the unusual and penury.

So, over the years, the home-made gifts and hand-drawn, smudged cards arrived in profusion.

There was the wooden toast rack made painstakingly by Barry — so lopsided that to this day, the toast points jauntily sideways.

There was the wonderful vase made by Ralph out of a jam tin — covered in putty and gravel from the building site next door. It still occupies the place of honour on the diningroom table.

There were the beautiful flowers picked or nicked by Jamie from Zoo Lake accompanied by a note that said:

'Dear Mommy,

Happy Mother's Day. I have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that I picked you these bootiful flowers for Mother's Day, and the bad news is that I burned my trak soot while braaing you wors to bring you in bed today.

Your ex-son,

Jamie

That is framed and on my dressing table today.

From Nicky I received self-composed poems written to 'Mummy with the Tummy'.

One Mother's Day, a kitten with a red bow and extraordinary appetite, arrived in my bed as a present. Today, he is a huge tom cat who has taken over this household and rules with a tail of iron.

There was a book of recipes entitled 'How to fill your childrens stomachs happily' not to mention the bags of marbles, pet rockies, a pet brick, a prickly cactus plant that pierced my thumb and almost killed me.

I've even been presented with a tape specially made by the kids to play in the car on the way to work.

Beethoven and the Beatles you might think.

Forget it. Sex Pistols, Kiss, Vampire Kills, The Teardrop Explodes and The Plasmatics are just some of the pop groups that now cause me ear strain daily.

Best of all have been the Mother's Day treats conjured up by my offspring over the years.

An all-day fishing trip to the Vaal Dam leaving at 5am to get a prime spot.

A picnic at Loskop Dam sitting jam-packed with 4 500 other Mother's Day revellers.

A ride in the cable car at Hartebeespoort Dam accompanied by Cape vultures and air sickness.

Breakfast in bed with a lace cloth, soggy toast, lukewarm coffee, dead egg and wet kisses.

Of course, there are those rip-off ads that cause an envious twitch now and again.

'For Mother's Day — buy your special mother a little mink, dress her in diamonds, cover her in gold etc'.

I guess, sometimes, just sometimes mind you, you can't help thinking a five-carat diamond would be quite nice.

And then, today, from my little girl, I received the following. She wrote:

'The friendship between my mother and I I think is my most special friendship. It is a friendship that will probably go on for the rest of our lives. The friendship and love is a friendship far greater than my childrens friends who I meet and then part but rather it goes on and on. When I am young my mother takes care of me and when she is old I shall take care of her. It is also that when I am distressed we talk it out and when she feels distressed a cuddle from me and a little comforting sorts her out. Although we do get angry with each other at times. We have a friendship which is the greatest in the world.'

Like two billion others who feel the same way — I know I'm the luckiest mother in the world.

Happy Mother's Day to you too.

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