My mother just informed me that my father’s snoring really bugs her some nights, but she has a grand solution:
“I just put my hand over his mouth, and block his nose and he stops!”
Ah, mum, I’m pretty sure that’s called suffocation! The thing is, my mother says things like that with such innocence, and excitement at her cleverness that you can’t help but love her for it. And laugh.
She is always making me laugh for absurd reasons. Like when we went to the tennis and, right before Venus Williams was to serve, everyone went quite and….she farted. Or how every time we go out for breakfast she gets all excited, because she can have pancakes and ice-cream for breakfast. Or the copious incorrect word choices she makes—advocado (avocado), squeeziness (queasiness), and prostrate cancer (prostate cancer).
That last one is always tinged with a hint of sadness, because many of her word issues are the result of surviving a near-fatal brain aneurysm 13 years ago. Post-operation the surgeons informed us her vocabulary may be reduced by as much as 40% due to the aneurysm’s location. But they hadn’t realised they were dealing with my mum—the woman who has survived death eight times, and is affectionately know as the family cat.
She’s tough. She’s funny. But most importantly she’s my best friend, and easily the best mum in the world. I love her to bits, and am forever thankful that on this day, seventy-one years ago, she came into this world and made it her own.
Happy Birthday, Daffers. Even though I’m sure I wasn’t always the best daughter (think high-school), I know I’ve definitely been privileged to have the very best mother. I hope you’re around for long enough to teach my kids a thing or two, and make them laugh a little too.