Word To Your Mother
It was my Mum’s birthday last week, and as anyone with a parent in their eighth decade knows, they’re tricky to buy for. To make things worse, I was a little budget-challenged. Somewhat desperate, I started to seriously consider that convenient “It’s the thought that counts” platitude. The theory has never officially been proven, mostly because it’s a lie.
Undeterred, I decided to create a magazine mock-up, the ideal platform to illustrate the depth of my love and gratitude for the woman who brought me into this world. I could have gone down the sentimental route, taken some inspiration from birthday greetings guru, John Sands, perhaps? But then I’d have to hate myself forever, and that’s a long time. Yes, the content is a little glib, some might say smart-arsed – my father did, but then he and Mum made me, so they’ve only got themselves to blame.
Long story short, it was fun. I merrily cracked myself up with my own funnies, which is great because other people’s birthdays are a lot more fun when you make your own pleasure the focus. It did take a little longer than I’d like to admit; in fact, if I’d invoiced her, she probably could have bought a helicopter ride or a three-month Bikram yoga membership, or any number of gifts she also didn’t want.
In a happy coincidence, Mum also got a chuckle or two out of it, which enhanced the primary benefit of my enjoyment. Well, she said she did, and when I asked Dad, he said he thought so but he was at the dairy at the time, so couldn’t be positive. Good enough for me. Conclusion? My new and improved theory; “It’s the chuckles that count (especially if they’re your own).”
Thank you, my lovely, patient, loyal, kind, long suffering yet predominantly good natured mother who possesses the enviable ability to knit up a storm of Vogue-esque beanies and scarfs at the merest hint (fawn hat, black scarf please) – Happy Birthday, I loves ya! xoxo.