A couple of years ago my husband surprised me with the news that we would spend Mothers Day at a high-class sporting event. Following the game, the athletes would cook and serve a sumptuous lunch for all the mothers present.
Yep, over 35s soccer followed by a sausage sizzle. For various reasons, (that I won’t go into here) the game (and the day) came to be known as the Mothers Day Massacre.
What irritated me beyond belief on that day was that the football association (whose competence I have long despaired of) would have the bollocks and the brainlessness to schedule games in anything other than the All Age competition on Mothers Day.
In the years since I watch my husband hold his breath as he waits for the draw (usually issued at least 4 weeks into the season- as I said, incompetence) to check that his team is not the unlucky one scheduled for the 11am or the 1pm game on Mothers Day.
It makes me wonder even more when junior sporting groups organise carnivals for Mothers Day. Hello, newsflash- the very fact that these are junior sporting teams infers that there will be a very large percentage of mothers involved.
I have friends who will not be spending the day being pampered today, but rather ferrying sons to multiple rugby carnivals at opposite ends of the city. So, they don’t even get one day off a year? Seriously.
I have no idea what we are doing today. Hubby is chuffed that he has organised something I know nothing about, and I’m happy to let him have his moment of control- it feels good. Anyway, I am safe in the knowledge that he played football yesterday.
As for me, I am spoiled. I have just finished brekky in bed and am now sipping a cup of tea before delving into my new cookbook. Life is good, and I am grateful.