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> Thinking about inking?

Today, 08 November 2009

› Malema’s life in danger

› Bok player ratings

› Hofmeyr addresses Joost

› Major airport work done

› Bok captain heading home

Yesterday, 07 November 2009

› Malema’s life in danger

› Leicester sting Bok Bs

› Eskom chair faces the axe

› Nedbank, ANCYL make up

› Hofmeyr addresses Joost

‘I hate Mothers’ Day’

There. I’ve said it. And no, it’s not because I dislike my mother or resent not getting any prezzies myself, it is because of the commercial frenzy which surrounds this ‘holiday’.

I concede that retailers and advertisers probably punt Christmas and Easter a little more, but somehow it is okay for jolly Father Christmas and brightly coloured Easter Bunnies to be treated as commercial enterprises. For one thing, they’re not real.

If you were to believe the numerous websites and advertorials dedicated to Mothers’ Day, you would be forgiven for thinking that your mum may just be falling a little short of the media mum — Florence Nightingale meets Martha Stewart meets Cindy Crawford.

Oh that idyllic picture of a perfectly groomed young mother carefully placing a plaster on her tearful little tyke. I, for one, remember a rather frazzled looking mother, with dishevelled hair and a toddler on her hip saying sternly as she patched up my grazed knee, “See, I told you this would happen if you ran down the stairs. Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

And no, this is not an indictment on my mother — I love her dearly and think she did a fantastic job. But real mothers have a tough job — they make mistakes, they get frustrated, they tell little lies and more often than not are just too damn tired to blow-dry their hair.

The cult of the media mum sets up an impossible ideal. In a world of dysfunctional families, orphans and abused children, the media mum is as much a fantasy as Father Christmas or the Easter Bunny.

Frankly, you’re lucky if you’ve got a mum at all. It’s a bonus if she shouts at you, tells you to ‘clean up your room this minute young lady’, and embarrasses you in front of the boy you’ve had a crush on for years. It builds character.

Now there’s a mother worth celebrating — and not with the obligatory bunch of flowers, box of chocolates or mushy card. And no, not with the pearl earrings, new Vacuum 500 or exercise bike either.

I strongly advise against spending a lot of money on Mothers’ Day. Instead, think of all the little things that set your mum apart from the clone-like media mum. My mother made the most beautiful rag dolls, taught me (with considerable resistance on my part) to make bread and sat through hours of torture while I practised the violin.

So perhaps I will bake her some bread. Or take her on a trip down memory lane — visit places related to my childhood or put together a beautiful photo album. Or simply hold a dinner in her honour at which I (and not she) will do the cooking and cleaning.

Ok, if you can get past the media hype and rampant commercialism, it’s not such a pesky holiday after all. Just remember: all you mother really wants for Mothers’ Day is to spend time with you… and a well-planned menu beats a vacuum cleaner any day!