Enjoying my Mother’s Day cup of tea in bed with my small daughter this morning, we discuss the nature of this event, once I have finished opening all my cards. I have just the one daughter, but she’s made enough Mother’s Day tributes tto serve a set of quins.
Never one to travel light, she has also brought into my bed three large teddy bears. These go by unusual names. Diabetic Bear was a helpful free gift from drug manufacturer Bayer to all newly diagnosed diabetic children, complete with colourful felt patches to indicate insulin injection sites. Romantic Bear sports a smart oriental karate outfit. Glowy lights up in the dark. Being slightly smaller than the other two, Glowy is introduced as the daughter of Diabetic Bear, who, because she is a wearing a dress, must be the mummy. I query whether Romantic Bear is therefore Glowy’s daddy.
“No, not yet,” replies Laura, introducing a whole new notion of the family dynamic. “But he might get married to Diabetic Bear this afternoon.”
How many marriages would be saved if the mummies had the babies first and then recruited the daddies, appointing only the most compatible candidate for the post? I think she could be on to something.
“When’s Father’s Day?” she asks. “How many more days?”
Though Mother’s Day is an ancient tradition, I have a feeling that Father’s Day was a twentieth century invention by Hallmark, always keen to create a new card marketing opportunity. Pleasingly, it was designated to fall precisely nine months before Mother’s Day.
“It’s in June,” is all I choose to tell her.
I look down at the little collection of treasures spread over the duvet: red handprints made at Rainbows, a card full of hearts and hugs and kisses created at school, a colouring sheet completed in the changing room at Gym Club, smuggled into her kit bag so that I wouldn’t see it before the big day. She cuddles up closer and gives me a long hug.
Hallmark really ought to start up a Daughters’ Day, too. Well, I’d be the first in the queue to buy a card.