Mithering Sunday

You know what? I ignored it. That day. That day that was supposed to be the first one in which I received cards and possibly flowers rather than giving them. I totally ignored it.

I am not a complete cow. On the Friday, I sent cards to my mother and to my step-mother, and checked H was au courant and knew where the stamps were so he could do likewise for MIL (and, being H, he had a card picked out and everything, so I went from Life-Saver Wife Of 24-Carat Gold to Nag in 0.2 of a second).

And then, I embargoed the whole thing. I spent most of the actual day scrubbing floors on my knees and de-limescaling the shower taps. H hoovered and tidied the study and the living-room. We watched the Six Nations finals (we’d taped them as we’d been out the day before) and bellowed happily at fouls and tries and, in my case, mighty thews. We did not leave the house. I spent the day in one of H’s old tee-shirts and a pair of tracksuit bottoms rolled up above the knee. H spent the day in even less.

We neither of us phoned our mothers.

If I’d tried to, I would have wept. Which would have been so nice and celebratory for my mum, daughters Second and Third forgetting, because they always do and always have, and First howling with grief and rage down the phone, and not being in the least bit grateful, damn it.

I have no idea what H’s rationale was.

In any case, I’m on clomid, and feel anxious and irritable when sitting peaceably alone in the middle of a nice clean living-room, with tea and a good book. Add in trying to do something that inevitably makes me anxious and irritable, and Tempers Will Fray. Case in point, on Sunday morning I chewed H a new one for buying the wrong sort of vacuum cleaner (he bought it six months ago), because I hate hoovering, especially with the wrong bloody sort of bloody buggering vacuum cleaner (and buggering ones are Very Wrong Indeed).

Colleagues at work this morning had a great deal to say about whether their children had been attentive or not, or how they had attended to their own mothers. I am given to understand thereby that sending a card is Simply Not Good Enough, and I should have added flowers, a phone-call, and dinner somewhere with actual cloth table-cloths. I stayed very quiet, in case my filthy secret was dragged from me.

I ignored Mothering Sunday.


9 responses to “Mithering Sunday

  • Nina

    I don’t think anyone would care if they knew how you felt about it. You’re perfectly well entitled to go/not go to family functions if you can/can’t deal with it. Or to ignore/pay attention to holidays of your choice. Glad you made it through the day, and good luck with the you-know-what.

  • a

    Moms are very forgiving. You do what you have to do to survive.

  • Ben Warsop

    It’s bad when vacuum cleaners suck. Ooops. No. It’s bad when they *don’t* suck. It sucks when they’re bad.

    Hmmm. :-/

    Poor May.


  • Betty M

    Mothers Day didn’t exist when I was a girl I’m sure. I have never sent my mother a mother’s day card ever. Silly Hallmark holiday which is best ignored.
    Sorry about the ghastly Clomid.

  • Jane G

    We ended up getting coralled into going to John’s brother’s house for a Mother’s Day lunch. I must admit it stung when their four year old ran up to me, gave me a huge hug and wished me a happy Mother’s Day. Let’s hope this is the last childless one for us all.

  • womb for improvement

    I ignored it too, for different, but also very hard reasons.

    And I absolutely agree with Jane’s final comment. (Well I certainly won’t be a Mum by next mother’s day but pregnant, give me that).

  • Helen

    This is where I quietly whisper that I love you and I’m sorry and I’ll take my sorry mothering arse away now.

  • deanna

    Sending armloads of hugs your way.

  • Korechronicles

    Hugs from me to you as well.

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