I was asked earlier this week if my youngest son (aged 12) would talk about what his mum means to him at church on Sunday (Mother’s Day). Being well aware of my deficiencies as a parent, this was a decision fraught with danger.
I said yes. People who know me are aware I have difficulty with the alternative response.
On Wednesday, he got into trouble for being late to his piano lesson because he wouldn’t get off the computer.
On Thursday, I sent him to school in his school uniform, forgetting that it was Colonial Era dress-up day.
On Friday, I forgot to go to assembly and his class was performing “Everything Is Awesome”. (No, I did not do it on purpose!)
On Saturday, I was grumpy with him because his Fruit Company piece of technology (which I abhor) wouldn’t charge and he wanted it fixed. With a million and one other things I needed to get done, the last thing I wanted was to run around town trying to work out how to get it repaired.
Supervision of the task of what he was actually going to say at church was given to his father. He reported that it was like pulling teeth.
It did not bode well.
So, naturally, when he stood up in church to speak, I was nervous.
Here’s what he said:
My mum is really caring. She cares for me, my brothers and my friends when they come over to play.
She is good at cooking and makes sure we eat lots of good things and not junk food.
When I am sick, she always knows what to do and helps me get better.
She helps me with my homework and helps me to prepare and make things when I need them for school.
She supports me when I do things at school like coming to watch me do Cross Country.
She helps me to make good decisions when I buy things to make sure I don’t waste my money.
She takes me to swimming and piano and helps me when I get stuck doing practice.
She is a really good example to me because she cares for other people, particularly those less fortunate.
She is cool because she likes things like Doctor Who and other shows we watch.
She does a lot of things for other people and always says yes when they ask her.
I am lucky to have a really good mum.
Yes, yes I did cry. Just a little bit.
Maybe it’s okay to be a ‘good enough’ mum after all.