Mother’s Day, that one day of the year when you think about the woman who carried you in her belly for nine months and then nearly split herself in two giving birth to you and say: “What, it’s THIS Sunday? You’re kidding!”
Our daughters put their usual amount of effort into their joint Mother’s Day present for their mum.
We all went shopping and the girls picked out a lovely leather handbag, the boss bought it with her own money and only then was it handed to yours truly to wrap and hand over to our kids to pass on to their mum on Sunday.
Well if they thought they could get away with sending a Facebook Mother’s Day ‘Like’ to their mum instead of a card, a present and some flowers then they would. Cards and gifts are soooooo 20th century.
The days of glueing bits of dried pasta to a piece of card to stick on the fridge door are long behind us, I’m afraid. Although the deep satisfaction of picking lumps of dried PVA glue off your fingers while the teacher read a story to the class is one of the educational highlights for anyone who was at primary school in the 1970s.
Anyway, the only obstacle for our darling daughters to overcome now in their Mother’s Day quest is to make breakfast in bed for their mum on Sunday without setting themselves on fire, shaving swear words into the cats’ fur and burning down the house. I think we’ll draw the line at tea and toast.
Finally this week, congratulations to all the ladies who took part in the Lancaster Women’s Running Group 5k fun run last Sunday morning.
The run was in aid of Barnardo’s and the boss and her running mate were up at hero o’clock to bound around the course.
Sadly, the lady of the house has been struggling with that nasty virus that’s doing the rounds and her hitherto Olympian training schedule hasn’t been what it once was.
But despite feeling under the weather she dragged herself around the course and crossed the finish line in one piece, although she admitted she looked better than she felt after coming within an ace of yakking up her breakfast halfway round.