Mothering Sunday.


Today is Mothering Sunday in the United Kingdom. It's always on the fourth Sunday of Lent, apparently--I didn't realize!--rather than on a fixed date like Mothers' Day at home.

Last night, my mama called and talked to me for a good long while. I have always been proud of the fact that my mother and I can talk for hours without running out of things to say. She rocks out a lot, my mom.

As we talked, she realized that she hadn't read yesterday's post yet, and so she went to her computer, came to the Cabinet, and proceeded to read it aloud. My mother likes to read aloud, and she likes to listen to things being read aloud. I began to react the way I usually do when she reads my writing aloud: asking her to stop, telling her that I don't want to hear my own words, on and on. But then I realized that I was curious to hear what my voice sounds like in someone else's mouth, and so I just listened. And I liked it.

It's just one of the many ways she mothers me. Today a cherry tree sent out its first blooms, in recognition.

Tonight, I'm thinking about all my friends who are mothers, and about all my friends who mother, even if they're not caring for their own children, even if they're not caring for children at all. "Your mama mothers us all," my father always says. It's true. It's undoubtedly true of billions of women the world over. You probably even know some of them personally.

Mama, if you were here, I'd give you big sloppy kisses and also a chocolate cake (or similar--your choice). And that wouldn't show even a fraction of my gratitude.

Today (check this out!): 773 words.