Fairy on the Christmas tree

Thanks to my time off work, I’ve been able to have a couple of long weekends at my mum’s in the last two months. My youngest sister has timed things to be there with her baby daughter, when I was. The first granddaughter. And the sweetest little topoftheChristmastree poppet if I ever saw one. I don’t get to see my sister often enough; to be there with the two of them has been wonderful. 

My youngest brother was also there, last time I was down. And commented on how moving it was to see what feels like four generations of women arranged on the sitting room floor making cooing noises. (My youngest sister was born when I was 16. A colicky baby, I used to push her around my home town in the pram whilst revising for my exams. I did sometimes wonder if people might think I was a teenage mum. As it happens, I hadn’t so much as held a boy’s hand at that point in my life. And not many new mums would have been learning physics equations. But anyway.)

Sitting opposite my mum, on one of these visits, I watched her holding the baby. And I was struck by how lovely she is. What a generous smile. Such a twinkle in her eye. I don’t think you could find a more engaging face. So full of sparkle and life. I spend a fair portion of my time at home regressing to my teenage self, quicker than you can say ‘Jack Spratt’,  and feeling irritated by all the things that are different from my own home. Which can leave me less inclined than I might be, to appreciate  the good stuff. 

So I want to commit to writing, just how wonderful my mum is. Especially now, at Christmas-time; and this one, when I’m having her at my own festive table for the first time in all my years!

Mum didn’t have the easiest time as a child. My grandmother was frequently very unwell, and from an early age it was my mum who stayed at home, missing school, in order to help look after her, and keep things straight and tidy. Money was very tight. She remembers a stranger putting some money through the door in an envelope one Christmas. And eulogises about oranges in a way that would have you believe they were formed from molten gold.  I’m not here to tell her story, but suffice to say she fought incredibly hard to get into Salisbury college and become a teacher. And had to teach science because that was the only course that had a place. This explains how I came to be taught the facts of life in diagrammatic form in the sand on Studland beach. And probably why she really wanted both my youngest brother and I do study law. He did. (But his true love is tractors.)

Because she’s strong and able, I’m not sure that we’ve shown her enough appreciation. I don’t think she’s prioritised her own needs enough, and friends would say the same is true of me (and most women, probably, though that is changing).

So it doesn’t entirely make sense that of  the many things I appreciate about my mum, the ‘do as you would be done by’ mantra is the one I’m most grateful to have witnessed, time and time again, and by which I try and live my own life. I’m also so proud of her ability to get on with pretty much anyone, find common ground, and bond. I love  her wit, her intelligence, her sense of fun. She’s glass half full. Can do. ‘Yes, let’s.!’ Good humoured. Generous, kind. 

As to her inner world, I don’t see much of that. Or her vulnerabilities. I’m posting with this blog entry a photo of her in a Christmas panto from when she was a girl (bottom right). She says that at the end she stood on the stage, waving, unaware that the rest of the cast had left, to the embarrassment of her brother. She’s like a twinkling little fairy. So sweet. Still shining.