I've had angoing migraine these past few days that keeps returning more often than a blowfly to a barbecue plate.
So much so that Sapphire and her sleepover friend Juliet made me breakfast in bed. Or was that breakfast ON the bed, because Juliet stumbled and the orange juice glass toppled over and gave me a rather wakeful splashing.
Never mind. What brought the second round of tears to my eyes (OJ's acidity is particularly harsh), was the card they made for me:
Creative spelling aside, I'm going to assume that 'excentric' is meant in the positive, full-of-character sense; not the Weirdo Weirdo WEIRDO sense.
It got me thinking about Mothers' Day which is next Sunday here in Australia (and presumably most places overseas wherever junk mail and TV are prevalent).
Sapphire keeps asking me what I want for the big MD.
"Nothing, honestly," is my answer, before I stroke her hair, scrunch her to my side in a quick hug and then hope she'll drop the subject.
"But Mum, I can't get you NOTHING. I'll feel really bad and ungrateful for the rest of the day. There must be something you'd like me to get for you."
The brochures she'd carefully spread out on the table were about as enticing as the 'home made' muesli she and Juliet had prepared the morning earlier - indescribably messy with lots of gawdy ingredients that weren't worth touching.
I'm not a jewellery gal. I've got my wedding and engagement rings, plus a 'ten year' anniversary one that all fit together on one finger. My Grandma's wedding ring is on my right middle finger which adds a rather glamourous flash of gold when my 'Eff You' gesture is occasionally called up and I have three gold bangles that I never take off; not for running, sleeping or showering. Anything else is likely to get snagged on my ever-present polar fleece jackets, attract blobs of stray hand moisturiser or just be mislaid.
"Just make me one of your fantastic cards, I really love them and I've kept every single one you've made."
She rolled her eyes and muttered, "But they don't count," as she walked outside to pat Skipper.
I tried to think. A new pair of running shoes would be nice, but handing over my rather worn-out and certainly odorific purple orthotics to Sapphire with a written list of shoe brands that accommodate my narrow feet and low in-step would take the mystery out of things a bit.
Even books are a bit superfluous, sadly. I review them, so always have a couple there on my bedside table waiting to be read, which is actually a rather lovely situation to be in. Having ones there that have been paid for will only ruin the experience and besides, just having the Saturday and Sunday editions of The Age provides enough 'down time' reading with all of its assorted magazines, inserts, segments and insight sections for the rest of the week.
A meal out at a fancy restaurant? Meal, yes; restaurant, maybe; but fancy, No. Instead, I'd go for a friendly cafe that serves all-day breakfasts or chaotic Yum Cha, decent souvlaki, crispy pizza or one that makes pungently, spicy and slurpy laksa for throngs of homesick Chinese students. Someplace where jeans and sneakers are the norm and not heels, mascara or low-cut tops, and we can turn up at 6:00pm and be well-fed and walking back home by 8pm, ready for a night in so that I can pat Milly and be within easy reach of Love Chunks, chocolate and red wine. Whilst wearing ugg boots.
And then, I spotted it. I beckoned Sapphire back over. "You know what, love? You can get me anything you like. ANYTHING."
She beamed. "Really?"
"Yep. Except for this."
She busied herself reading through all of the dot points that the marvellous 'Mrs Peggs Handy Line' claimed to have. "Why have they said that this is the 'Ideal Gift for Mum'? There's no fun in this."
That's right my beautiful, wondrous, clever young treasure. So, if I get juice in my eye again, or a pair of Peacock feather dangly earrings (trust me; it's been suggested more than once) or even the fake Aboriginal dot-painted boomerang that she admired yesterday during our foray at the Queen Vic markets, I'll be grateful.