"Love Is a Nine Letter Word...And It's Brown"

Last night le husband returned from a week long business trip in Mexico City. He 'brought me back' a giant bottle of tequila (a spirit neither of us drink) with a big fat white drowned worm floating around in it. He also brought me back a Mexican Nestle Crunch chocolate bar. Normally such 'gifts' would have elicited a disappointed, half-hearted 'thank you' and prompted a trip down to the kitchen to seek solace in the biggest glass of Merlot I could pour without being labelled an alcoholic. This time however, I took him into my arms and said, "Nevermind Baby...I didn't expect you to bring me back anything".

Now, this ultra-mature and loving response of mine just might have something to do with the fact that I was very naughty and had an unfortunate for me, but fortunate for them, run-in with a posh jewelry establishment yesterday. Yep. Let's just leave it at that.

Mind you, this Sunday being "Mother's Day" I reckon I'll get off lightly for my slightly indulgent purchases from yesterday (which my husband knows better than to query about in any great detail...we've been together for eighteen years). Instead, I hope to be lauded as 'World's Best Mother' or some such accolade of which I am admittedly, entirely undeserving. Nonetheless the monsters seem to think I'm great as they don't know any better, and so I'm going to stick with that for as many years as I can get away with. Eventually of course, they'll get wise to all of my parental shortcomings - but if I can just ride out the 'glory days' until adolescence, by that time they'll hate everyone anyway so it will be no great shakes not to be a minor deity in their eyes.

Anyway yesterday (while I was doing my little part in helping out the U.K. economy try and recover from the current worrying recession by plumping money back into a small, well-deserving fine jewelry store in the exclusive Sloane Square area...) my mother was taking over the school run for me. Apparently she and Eggie got there just as the class was going inside (keeping it tardy!) and since Egg can now decipher the kitchen clock, he blasted her the whole way there:

"Grammitay! You are going to make me late! Mama and Dada have only ONE rule and that is that I should not be LATE for school! Now look how LATE I am going to be!!" (etc...this went on for the entire seven minute walk to the school gates apparently).

Once inside, Mum introduced herself to his teacher and took a long look inside the classroom - promptly mortification from Egg and an outward 'blanking' affectation suggesting that the woman smiling and waving at him from the door was some crazy lady who had snuck into the school and appeared to be under the mistaken impression that they were related.

Poor Egg. I remember being that age and desperately not wanting parents or relatives to acknowledge me in school and single me out. Oh well. At least I haven't yet volunteered to help teach the class one morning. This has become a popular past time for many of the 'stay-at-home-mum's' and I have yet to decide whether to inflict this particular brand of cruelty on my uber-shy firstborn or not. Other kiddies might be chuffed to have their Mum squeezed into a miniature chair beside them and gamely wielding scissors side-by-side at craft time, but I suspect my little Egg would rather have me barefoot at home in the kitchen where I belong, whipping up batches of after-school cookies, than attempting to 'be cool' and 'interested' in doing puzzles, practicing phonics and reading stories (none of which I particularly excel at it has to be said).

At any rate, it's a luvverly day outside, the sun is pouring down on our sweet little street and I should probably wake up the lazy Dumps, toss him into his bright red but spectacularly-trashed pushchair and head on out into one of the parks where right now as we speak, millions of 'Mummies' are reinacting scenes from Mary Poppins - pushing and prancing...playing and dancing...feeding and romancing their offspring into a Spring frenzy.

Of course I would much rather set up my music, slap on some headphones and attempt to make some cool tunes...but what kind of 'Mummy' would that make me?...especially in light of it nearly being "Mother's Day"? I reckon that with the high holiday just around the corner, I'd best make a little effort and try and at least "earn" my Godiva chocolate truffles. (Hear that husband? Lose the Mexican confectionary and head out after work to the nearest, dearest chocolate establishment before heading home tonight or there will be one pissy Mama about on Sunday....jewelry binge or no jewelry binge).

You see "Love" is a nine-letter word. At least in my thesaurus...