Nearly 6 years ago exactly, I decided to run away.
I had two beautiful children. A perfect pair to be precise. A hard working husband who was an awful lot of fun to share adventures with.
“Want to try something new?”
I had a house, a job, a few friends. I even had some rewarding community driven engagements.
“How fulfilling.” I hear you whisper.
But I wanted two more things; a baby and a trip to Italy.
I email my Mum, because that is always the right place to start.
“Mum I am thinking I might travel to Italy in September. I know that it probably won’t work, and I am not even sure that I can afford it, but is there any chance you want to come with me?”
A measly 5 minutes after I press send, the phone rings.
It was Mum, of course. (Who else still calls?)
“Yes I would absolutely love to go with you to Italy. If I can’t work out how to do it, you should go anyway. You will never regret it.
So we did go, my Mum and me. I ran away from my little family and all my responsibilities and the groundhog day routine and I travelled across Italy on a bus with a puking Canadian and I loved every minute of it.
I am a Superman blogger.
In my “Daily Planet” job I work as a Psychologist. It is not until night time comes that I rip off that suit and let my hair fly out and emerge from the phone booth (Ok, its more like a sturdy silver Mitsubishi family car) as a blogger.
Psychology has taught me one thing (not just one, mind).
It is always the Mother’s fault.
“Tell me about your childhood?”
Well I raise you one humble life lesson, Psychology, and tell you this.
“Of course it the Mothers fault, because the Mum’s do everything.”
TM (Book soon to be released by “Tell her she’s dreamin’ publishing.”
The Mum’s are there through the thick and the thin, the good and the bad. The wiping up and the cleaning down. The building high and striking down. The BFF’s and the frenemies and enemies, the bullies and the brokers.
Mum’s are IN IT ALL.
Case in point, when I wanted to run away, my loving, adventurous mother was right there with me, both literally and figuratively.
Conversely at the saddest, lowest ebb of my little life, my Mum shone through like a Mum/ Hulk hybrid (less green version).
My Dad was dying from cancer you see and he wanted to die at home. I am not really sure that he realised what this would mean when he made his request, but eventually we all came to understand it how difficult it was going to be to grant him his wish. But my Mum, she never wavered. She looked after him tenderly, persistently, carefully and purposefully. She took him on retreat to a hippy-freak organic-fruit-wielding-health-farm and when that didn’t work, she continued the plan from her own home.
She was a hero, draped in curly brown hair and hint of fatigue and a sadness drenched aura.
She was his hero and our hero and her hero and I will forever be grateful.
Back in Italy though, Mum was chastising me or challenging me, I am not sure which one, about nearly everything.
“Just do it. You will regret it if you don’t. You only live once. ”
And so I did. I drank bubbles along the Grand Canal, I shopped on Via Condotti, I ate pizza in Piazza Del Campo and I fell asleep listening to Opera in a cold stone building in Roma.
My Mum is definitely to blame for some of that.
So if we must go around attributing blame of the “she did not breastfeed long enough” variety, let’s not forget to dish blame out thoroughly.
So right here, right now I would like to blame my Mum for a few things.
- for cooking for me and my 5 sisters night after night, day after day, year after year, for decades.
- for picking me up and dropping me off and buying me everything and organising a thousand small things that brought forth my future.
- for telling me I could when I couldn’t and thinking I wouldn’t when I did (I was a teenager once).
- for holding my hand through a lot of scary moments, only some of which occurred in childhood.
- for the warmth and the laughter and the Summer’s by the pool.
- for teaching me to be brave and forcing me to try new things.
- for teaching me about loyalty by being loyalty, through and through.
There is a lot more I could blame my Mother for because, indeed, she was just there through it all.
How about you? What would you like to blame your Mother for?
And one last thing, Happy 70th Val! I love you.
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