ALMOST every Mother’s Day I find myself reminiscing with Wanda about when our children were born, their first words, their first steps, and how their school shorts were too long for their little bodies when they first lined up at the kindergarten gate.
We’ll laugh until we cry as we recall what came out of the mouths of babes when they met their first friends, had their first argument, their first kiss and received their first participatory ribbon.
Before our children were able to take Mother’s Day into their own hands with a school-made card and an abstract drawing of the family, it was up to me to do my darndest to make Wanda feel special on her day.
We were still learning this whole parent thing, so it was always an awakening of reality, a reminder that we’d assumed such a huge responsibility of helping little people forge a path to adulthood.
We never took ourselves too seriously, and I’m surprised looking back that our children stood a chance under the amateur guidance of a misfit father.
Wanda, though, was always a voice of reason.
“No, Wayne. Do not allow the children to play on the see saw by themselves.” The children were 3 at the time.
“No, Wayne. Your daughter does not want to ride dirt bikes at the age of 6. Nor does she want to help you pull weeds in the front garden.”
I recall that same daughter had said “yes” to both activities. And to the weeding, sweeping, raking, mopping and passing of bricks for that barbecue I built in the ’60s, I defend myself by saying I was willing to pay for her labour. In chocolate, and help with homework.
Wanda was always there to come to the children’s rescue, and that’s just one of the things that made her a great mother.
To the point I’m not sure Mother’s Day is entirely appropriately named. I feel it should be Mother’s and Partner’s day because Wanda looked after me the same way she looked after the children.
She ensured the house functioned as the babies became toddlers, and later teenagers – with friends who giggled a lot and listened to unusual music.
Why they chose our house to do all this is still a mystery to me, but they did and Wanda seemed to have all the answers to keep peace between competing interests – me wanting to catch a few minutes of football on the wireless between DIY projects, and the children wanting to fire up the tape deck with Beatles tracks.
I liked the Beatles, too. Surely they could wait until I was ready, and we could all sing together. Why is it teenagers don’t seem to see that as an option?
Wanda never took sides. She reasoned with us all. At the forefront of it all was genuine, unconditional love for everybody in the house – whether they belonged to her or someone else.
Even as the children grew older and took on their own responsibilities for their mum on the first second Sunday of May, I maintained the habit of trying to do something special for Wanda.
Flowers, dinner, something each year that might make her feel a little bit extra special.
I don’t do it because she’s a great mother, even though she is. I do it because I love her. And because there’s no such thing as Wife’s day. And there should be. Every day.
Hey Wanda, feel like some takeaway dinner on Sunday? Be sure to dress up a little. We might just take a detour to that restaurant you like so much.
