Mother’s Day

When we were young mothers day had it’s routine. On the Saturday dad would take us down to the local florist where we’d choose a bunch of flowers. Then the newsagents for a card. Seeing as how it was Saturday and we always did the newsagent on Saturday we’d also get our packet of crisps. For me it was always pickled onion monster munch or salt & vinegar squares. They used to taste different in those days, when they were still made by Smiths and before they used foil packets.

Mum would get her flowers on Saturday. After all, it’s not like we had anywhere to hide them and they don’t last forever. Cards would come on Sunday morning.

Mothers’ day would go just like any Sunday: we’d head to nan and grandad’s for lunch. There’s never really been any big celebration.

As we got older and got jobs maybe one of us would bother with the flowers but there’d be other gifts too. We’d no longer head to nan’s for lunch seeing as how Scotland was that little bit far away but our normal Sunday activities weren’t interrupted. I think mum secretly enjoyed those weekly gossip sessions with the other
mums on the side of the football pitch.

I enjoyed my first mothers’ day only six days before the boy was born. We took a family trip across the block to eat carne de sol. The only real mother there was grandma, but seeing as she’s like a second mother to us all, we
celebrated her.

Since then our mothers’ days haven’t really taken much of a form. Sure, there’s presents – usually something I’ve asked for because I’m incredibly difficult to by for – but we haven’t really developed our own traditions or routine.  Today we’re heading over to mum’s  to spend the day with family, just as we did when we were kids.  To be honest, it’s just like another normal Sunday.