Today is Mothering Sunday in the UK. I’m not one of those people who refers to my cat as my child, but nevertheless I made the most of starting my day with a long, peaceful lie-in and delightful, soft cuddles from Louis Catorze, who lay happily across my stomach like a living belt and waited patiently until I decided to get up.
Mothers of human children, on the other hand, will have had a harsh awakening at 6am with little feet stomping on their faces, and then been force-fed dry Cornflakes in bed, all the while pretending to enjoy it.
This is one of the many reasons why I love cats.
One thought on “La fête des mères”
Mothers’ Day is global, ubiquitous, as far as I know, but I’ve never heard of Mothering Day. Is this a UK thing or am I an other culture dolt. I tend to think I’m not, but willing to learn.
We were lucky with our three, no great teenage hell and angst even though the Beautiful Daughter was known by her dearest friends as “the bitch.” It’s been lovely now that they’re young adults that they are people we like, and like to be with. The bride was not that maternal, an element in our decision that I’d be a SAHD, and do my art at home. She said once, long before the little sausages arrived, that she hated kids but would consider adopting a 17-year-old, kick him out the next year and just have him come home for holidays.
We’re lucky, as are you la mère du Roi, to have him in your life and many thanks again for sharing him so we may digitally adopt from afar.