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Sunday, May 11, 2014

The One Day Mothers Should Do Nothing!

The request was, my five kids all gather at 12:00 pm and supply lunch for their Mum on Mother’s Day.

Only rule was that I was doing NOTHING!
Thaddeus (24), was the first to arrive with a bottle of Champers tucked under his arm, paying homage to his precious mother on this, her one special day of the year.

Lulu (17), who’d slept here the previous night, had already presented Pinky with a floral arrangement and was busy texting the others to enquire about their tardiness.

“Who’s that on the TV?” asked Thaddeus pointing to the big screen playing music clips.

“Karen Carpenter,” I replied quickly. I love it when I know something they don’t.

“You know… if Mama Cass had shared her sandwich with Karen Carpenter it could have saved two lives!” quipped Thaddeus.

“That’s a terrible thing to say Thaddeus!” I remonstrated. “I never eat ham sandwiches in bed anymore after what happened to poor Mama Cass!”

“You know that’s a myth, Mum,” he continued authoritatively. “She died of a heart attack. It had nothing to do with a ham sandwich.”

“Yes it did!” I argued. “She choked on a ham sandwich!”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read, Mother,” he remarked.

Ah… I thought. It seems the student has become the master.

We were interrupted by a lanky Hagar (21), sauntering in, plonking himself on the couch, thrusting a bottle of red wine at me and proffering a kiss on the cheek.

We were all starving so Lulu popped some garlic bread in the oven. Where were those other two boys? They were almost an hour late.

Finally Jonah (23), and Padraic (19), arrived and Lulu began to order pizzas on her laptop.

“I can smell garlic bread burning!” I commented quietly, making not a move to retrieve the blackening crusts from the oven. It was my day and I was doing nothing; niente, nada.

No one else made a move except for a reluctant Scotto who was disinclined to leave his self- constructed and recently reinstated Pinball machine in the corner of the lounge.

“Sit down Scotto!” I barked. “I’m not your mother.”

The boys all turned and stared at Lulu.

Did I really raise these chauvinists?

“Lulu put it in the oven. So one of you guys should get it out and serve it! I chastised.

“You should always finish what you start,” drawled Hagar, staring pointedly at Lulu.

We all sat silently sniffing the smouldering garlic bread… a Mediterranean standoff if there ever was one. The boys were motionless, staring at the TV, not blinking… not breathing.

You could have cut the tension with a pizza wheel.

Huffing in exasperation, poor little Lulu snapped the laptop shut and flounced out to the kitchen.

‘Good luck with finding wives you guys,’ I thought to myself.

She then collected their ten buck contributions and floored it up to the pizza shop returning about twenty minutes later laden down with greasy boxes.

Like a float of crocodiles ripping into an unsuspecting wallaby unobtrusively drinking at the riverbank, the claws snapped at the boxes until all that was left were two sad shrivelled slices of barbeque chicken.

Then, before I could say, ‘pan-fried pepperoni’ the boys were standing up feeling in their pockets for their car keys and bidding me a hasty farewell.

Oh well. At least there were no barneys this year. And I actually loved every minute of it. 
But... thank the Lord I had a daughter.