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Sunday 17 December 2017

Coffee Morning Whispers: There's really nothing like a pig in a poke for Mother's Day

Patsy loves her mother to bits and likes to show that love by making a big fuss of her mum on Mother's Day.

We were discussing gifts in the coffee shop when she suddenly spouted: "A mother's love is patient and forgiving when all the rest are forsaking. It never fails or falters even though the heart is breaking."

It sounded like the worst verse on a Hallmark card that I had ever heard.

"When did you get so sappy?" I wanted to know.

"Being a mother is the most precious gift," she replied in a tone that suggested she may be having some regrets herself.

Maggie, as is her wont, placed her hand over Patsy's and asked her if she regretted not having children herself.

Patsy looked suitably appalled at the notion. "Absolutely not!" she cried. "I can't stand kids. Everyone knows that!"

Step-mum

Indeed we do, but she seems to have forgotten that she is also step-mother to Jose's son.

Which means she could find herself in the position of being a step-granny at some stage in the near future. But I didn't want to spoil the moment by reminding her.

Anyway, Patsy has bought her Mum some jewellery and Jose will be cooking her lunch on Mothering Sunday.

"What about you? Will there be an abundance of cards and gifts again this year?" she asked me with just a hint of sarcasm.

Mother's Day is a bit hit and miss in our house I'm afraid, with more misses than hits.

I remember one particular year, my son was six, and he presented me with a handmade card.

It was enough to bring a tear to my eye.

On the front it said the usual, "Happy Mammy's Day' with lots of love hearts and shiny stars.

"I drew a picture for you inside," he said, proudly.

I quickly opened it and, for a split second, I thought it was a drawing of a pig in a wheelchair.

"Is that a pig in a wheelchair?" I gently teased him.

All the while I am thinking he would say, "Oh no, Mammy, that's a princess sitting on her throne," but he just said, 'Yup' and went on his merry way.

Since then, I've had the occasional card and presents such as a spangly brooch with the word 'MOTHER' written in lurid pink and bottles of perfume that smell like the exhaust pipe of the lorry they fell off the back of.

"It's the thought that counts," Patsy said.

Of course it is and, in honour of the day and my especially wonderful family, I have my own quote.

'Treat your Mum to a margarita on Mother's Day. Remember you are the reason she drinks!'

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