How lucky was I to be snuggling under the covers of my super king bed?
This was no ordinary bed. I had spent the last four years in a single bed, in a ‘little girl’s room’. But my boys and I had finally moved into a ‘real’ house: three bedrooms, a little garden and, best of all, my super king bed, complete with a chandelier above. All I needed was the man to swing from it.
This was no ordinary day. It was Mothers’ Day, the one day a year when I am spoilt rotten.
Crispy bacon and poached eggs, with a glass of champagne and orange juice and freshly brewed coffee - in bed. What a treat! But there was more - a bouquet of blood-red roses, wrapped in bright yellow paper. Not the cheap kind you buy at the supermarket – but a real bouquet from a real florist . The smell was divine. And then there was gentle tap at my bedroom door. A woman stood carrying a table. ‘Your massage, Madame.’
About to drift off to sleep as warm oil flowed over my back, I heard them.
‘Mum, he stole the remote.’
‘It wasn’t me. GIVE IT BACK.’
Screaming, whining, squealing, crying.
‘Mum what are you still doing in bed?’
‘We want breakfast. ‘
‘Yeah, and it’s time for soccer.’
I opened my tired eyes and looked outside at the rain and wind battering the windows.
I threw on my sweatpants, grabbed three bananas, heated yesterday’s coffee in the microwave, put on my gumboots and jumped in the car with the boys.
Happy Mothers’ Day!