Have I ever told any of you what a spoilsport my mother is?
It has always been this way; her being the wet blanket with her general reservations and ability to find fault and loopholes in every initially exciting event. I guess that comes with having to look after 3 monkeys at home for half of her life, monkeys who have as much sense as dodos. (That’s why dodos went kaput: because they didn’t have a mum like ours)
That’s why my sister and I, despite very swiftly and deadly (or so I’d like to believe) turning off my mother’s alarm for this morning, still had a premonition that things would not go according to plan. And true enough, ma didn’t let us down!
Despite crawling out of bed at a (once again I’d like to believe) very swift and silent manner at 5 in the morning, and brushing our teeth at a volume as never heard before, she still woke up, disoriented and thinking that there was a thief in the house. I am glad my mother doesn’t sleep with a baton beside her. But we shooed her back to bed, telling her a partial truth, that we were in charge of breakfast today. Disoriented mum lumbered back to bed and we breathed a very silent sigh of relief, very carefully excavating the car keys which could be a Christmas ornament with all its extravagance being looped together with a thousand other keychains.
“Uncle 早!” So early? Richard the coffee wizard asks. “Yeah 今天帮妈妈买咖啡! 我们先去买菜再回来拿咖啡” (yeah we’re helping our mother to buy coffee today. Will pick up the coffee after getting some vegetables)
Vegetables at the wet market are so expensive nowadays! Almost more expensive than at the grocer’s, but I’m thinking that hey if it’s fresher then it’s better even if it ain’t cheaper. After picking up some mushrooms, peppers and tomatoes for the omelette,we picked up ma’s favourite coffee (and all of ours actually), speeding recklessly home.
“Wake up wake up!!! Why won’t you stir?!” Now we know what ma feels when she has to wake us up. It’s akin to trying to wake fossilised neandrethals up.
With the kettle on and the omelettes being beautifully flipped, toast getting nice and warm in the toaster, everything was beautiful
With only cutleries and coasters on the dining table (no flowers, store-bought flowers are too ephemeral and ridiculous for our liking), the four of us settled down for breakfast; the last breakfast together for a long long time before sis and dad leave for Cambodia and Thailand respectively, and our house becomes a hostel for our Thai friends for the 2 months (soooo looking forward to figuring out a share-the-toilet schedule).
The wet blanket ended up being wowed, and squealed (!) when the coffee was brought out. Mother obviously underestimates her offsprings’ skills to be resourceful. (I think ‘family’ should belong to the same semantic field as eggs, toast and coffee)
Ma still ended up cleaning the dishes despite the occasion despite our protests – that’s my mum for you. Steady, caring, protective (of dishes) and stoically loving.
It doesn’t matter what name you call your mother by – ma, mother, mudder, mummy, what that unites us to these women universally (besides our withered umbilical cords) is the love that they have shown for us at any one point of our lives. The love is not all tasty and pretty like the omelettes we had today, but love is love all the same, which is beautiful, because it is imperfect. I won’t call my mother beautiful because a) that is what everyone calls their mum and b) my idea of beauty is ugly, but I will call her my mother and that is all. Mother stands for more than can be expressed, and that suits us just fine. Especially since overtly affectionate terms will definitely get snuffed out by the wet blanket of my mother’s love.
P.s Funky syntax construction today due to the lack of sleep + too much walking pre and post the 5k Nike run yesterday. The walk to locate the starting pen was ironically more exhausting than the run itself!
Apart from that, have a lovely Sunday ahead dear readers, and for the love of flowers, please don’t buy carnations. They’re too monstrous and ugh ok maybe it’s just my dislike for such cultivated horticulture.