On Mothering Sunday

I got these…

Cards, daffodils, a box of cinnamon cookies baked by Joy – they were so delicious that that’s the last one you’re looking at – and a bag of my favourite sweets from childhood. (Alphabet letters. Surprised? Thought not.) A box of Soap and Glory travel goodies and some foot scrub. – all about those things we ought to slow down and enjoy. I feel very spoiled.

But more importantly, I’ve got these.

(That’s Ned and I this morning and Joy, taken a couple of weeks ago. Joy declined to have her photo taken this morning as she is full of cold and ‘I’m not even wearing mascara’. Her mother’s daughter indeed.)

I know it’s mandatory – indeed, it’s a biological imperative – for mothers to think that their offspring are fabulous. But I’m sure regular readers know enough to agree that Ned and Joy really are. My children have been part of my dance with cancer with depths of maturity, understanding, patience, compassion and humour that have amazed me, and I thought they were pretty amazing to begin with. They’ve shown me that I can trust them with the big stuff and I’ve learned that if I can overcome my natural instinct to protect them from unpleasantness they will support me and we will all be better, closer, stronger for it. I would have given anything for them not to have had to experience cancer with me, but I can’t imagine how I’d have done it without them. Thank you, Ned. Thank you, Joy. You’re the stars in my sky. And you choose a good present, too.