As I enjoyed my annual cup of tea in bed this morning, while listening to the escalating chaos downstairs and resisting the urge to go and interfere, I started to think about a real ‘mother’s day’. You know, those days spent mainly at home, doing nothing in-particular and yet feeling utterly exhausted at the end of it. Take yesterday, for example.
Yesterday, I was Tigger, Bob the Builder’s dad, Captain Hook, and a leopard. I drew a fantastic map of Neverland and searched for treasure in a laundry basket galleon with a blanket sail.
I changed six nappies – each one requiring lightening quick reflexes, mild wrestling skills and lots of singing. I read sixteen stories, brushed three sets of teeth twice (I am of course including my own!), dressed and un-dressed three people and put three pairs of shoes on four times.
I provided ten meals, swept the floor thirteen times (it’s still messy), loaded and unloaded the dishwasher twice and wiped up three spilt drinks.
I searched for, and found, my hairbrush, deodorant and moisturiser in three different rooms. I fished a towel out of the loo and a pair of shoes out of the kitchen bin. I fixed one truck and one car, built a railway and relocated a missing teddy.
I diffused eleven disagreements, kissed better one head, four fingers, three knees, one bottom and one eyebrow. I shouted quite a lot but laughed even more. I danced like an idiot around the kitchen and rolled around on the bedroom floor.
And at the end of the day, I tucked in two blankets, kissed two sleeping heads, and fell into bed exhausted.
I often think I haven’t really done much in a day (unless we’ve all been to the zoo, climbed a small mountain or created a piece of modern art). Now that I have actually sat and thought about it, I’ve realised just how much I actually do! So to all you mums out there, don’t forget that the every day little things are just as important – if not more so – than the occasional big things.
Happy Mother’s Day.