Being Mum

Mothering Sunday.

Usually, there is the amusement of waiting for the inevitable text/email/telephone call of horror and abject apology from the Lovely Son, generally late in the day, as he realises that once again he has forgotten. My neighbour would say in outrage "How many mothers does he have?" but it always made me laugh; I have deep sympathy for anyone whose memory lets them down at inopportune moments, a dislike for the commercialisation of such days, an awareness of his erratic working hours, and I know that the Lovely Son loves his mum regardless of what day it is.

But the Lovely Son came to stay for the weekend, although he had to catch an early train back to London this morning.

He spent the weekend bathed in dog-breathy adoration.

We shopped, we whizzed round the house preparing for a viewing yesterday (silly girl who didn't read the spec, and therefore didn't realise the house wasn't big enough for her and three others) and he supported me in the sad and long-delayed task of emptying the shed on the allotment, prior to giving up the plot. We walked, and talked, and talked some more.

He was repeatedly sat on and washed.

He went off this morning carrying still-warm cheese scones, as well as other nice things to eat, and left flowers, a card (with an intensely loving message containing the word 'selfless'- oh, sob, sniff! and how I wish that were really true!), and two moping dogs.

He sent his usual complaining text from the train (running late, someone smelly and barefooted sitting next to him - later, when he reaches Darlington, there will be complaints about mobile phones, screaming kids, shouty people, inexplicable waits in fields, and interminable loudspeaker announcements). I wish I'd had the forethought to copy and keep his often-hilarious train texts over the years; they would have made a delightful compilation of how much suffering accompanies modern rail travel. The Lovely Son likes to share his suffering with me, and he makes me laugh.

I shall miss him too.

Back to the quiet life now, without such regular meals, so much tidying up, so many unfinished cups of tea, so many dishes to wash. We're planning for me to see him in London at the end of the month. Apparently I must meet Someone....