Happy Mother's Day to all my friends who are moms!!!



Leave it out on mum's big day
By LINLEY BONIFACE - The Dominion Post | Monday, 05 May 2008


With Mother's Day approaching, I have told my children not to buy me anything. Instead, I suggested in a saintly fashion, they should make or find me a gift.

My six-year-old son was instantly appalled. "Can't it be something I find you in a shop?" he asked. When I pointed out that no, it couldn't be, because I am currently in my pious and non- materialistic mothering mode, he writhed in agony as though impaled on a spit.

"Find you something!" he groaned. "You don't mean a leaf again, do you? Not a horrible old leaf! I don't want to look for yucky old leaves on the yucky old ground! Do not make me look for leaves again!"

It is true, I've realised, that I have a history of forcing the children into the park to look for leaves whenever I'm feeling contrite about my lacklustre mothering abilities.

I expect this is something I once read in a parenting magazine – mothers in parenting magazines are always taking their children to the park to look for leaves, presumably because they have run out of gin in the house. My own children loathe leaf-gathering, though I console myself that this dreary and pointless chore will at least prepare them for the monotony of the world of work.

My mothering style can best be described as shambolic, if not actually slovenly, and around Mother's Day I always feel vaguely depressed by the flurry of advertising images of proper mothers.

Judging from the junk mail we've received in advance of Mother's Day this year, I can confidently state that proper mothers have blonde hair, of any length, or long brown hair. I assume from this that brown hair is inferior to blonde hair in the mothering stakes, and therefore twice as much of it is required.

Mothers in advertising are Pakeha, have perfect teeth and wear turtleneck sweaters (perhaps proper mothers have goitre). They are photographed laughing maniacally as they lift a casserole out of the oven or roll around joyfully on the carpet with their offspring.

These last images always make me feel particularly guilty: the only times I roll around on the carpet with my offspring are when I am frisking them for loose change.

And what do mothers get in return for their superb dentistry and ceaseless casserole-making? According to Ferrit's TV ads, the ideal Mother's Day presents are cheap perfume, a Danielle Steel novel and a Westlife CD. If young women knew they had this appalling trio of gifts to look forward to in later life, New Zealand would be rapidly heading toward zero population growth.

Jaycar Electronics suggests in its junk mail that a suitable Mother's Day present would be a plant humidity detector. "This little frog fellow monitors the moisture in your plant's soil. If the moisture level is too low, he'll alert you with a low intermittent chirp," apparently, which all makes those 36 hours of labour seem worthwhile.

Alternatively, says Jaycar, how about a "pink tool kit with attache case, with matching gloves and bandanna". It's hard to imagine which psychiatric disorder would compel a woman to willingly use a pink tool kit with attache case, with matching gloves and bandanna, but I think we can safely say such a woman should be kept away from children at all costs.

Harvey Norman believes a welcome Mother's Day present would be a Silk Sensation organic duvet inner – dust-mite resistant, which makes it particularly celebratory – while Briscoes suggests a dog bed embossed with the Playboy bunny ears emblem.

I can't imagine this gift being greeted with much delight by either mothers or dogs: given that most pets are neutered, it seems rather taunting to insist upon them sleeping in beds featuring the Playboy symbol.

Happily, thanks to my new "make or find" rule, I needn't fear either a dog bed or a plant humidity detector this Sunday. Leaves seem to be out of the question too, so I expect I have a batch of home-made biscuits to look forward to.

This would be an excellent choice, because the only mothering activity I dread more than leaf-gathering is baking, and the thought of my husband having to endure several infuriating hours in a steamy, dough- splattered kitchen will be payment enough.

Sometimes, the best present of all is someone else's pain.