It’s a fact all mothers are proud, but some more than others. It’s not that I’m very proud I’m more astonished that these two young men are my sons. Apart from the eldest child still having red hair, I can see myself in both of them. Not just how they look but how they are with people.
It’s fair to say that my sense of humour may be a little wicked, and I love to take the mickey out of both of them. Actually I take the mickey out of most people, fortunately I can also laugh at myself, which saves me getting beaten up sometimes.
Sometimes I’m caught out quite unaware by their quirkiness which they obviously get from me. (nobody mention that to himself aka their father he’d be terrile feckin upset) They both take sudden wild enthusiasms for things, Like learning to skate, there is as I speak a massive pair of roller blades in my front room and I know for a fact that have not ventured out of my front door. In fact the last time they were outside my front door was when the post man delivered them.
Neither of them shop in shops, everything they buy is bought online. As a result I now am on first name terms with the postman. I am now familiar with all his wifes ailments and his holiday destinations for the next two years.
They both show a great fondness for an awl chocolat bisquitt .. they don’t have one or two disquittes with a glass of milk. Oh no not my boys, my boys have a packet of chocolate bisquittes. They order foreign food on their phones and my house then smells like a food court, except I get to clean up the food court mess in the kitchen.
The eldest child (him with the red hair) is a bit arty farty like, not unlike meslef and he too can fall about laughing for no other reason than someone doing something a bit stupid like tripping, sometimes he laughs so hard he makes no noise at all.
But yesterday, I realised that the youngest was most like me that his logic made no logical sense at all and I loved it.
He drove me to the shops in his little Fiat Punto, now be aware that it’s a small car so it is, with a big red L plate in the back window, but he drives it like it’s an Aston Martin. We take off like a ryanair flight only to arrive abruptly at traffic lights almost giving me whiplash with his practiced braking manoeuvres. The little car vibrates to the sound of, oh I’m not sure what the sounds are, only that he claims it’s music and are ‘Class tunes’.
We arrived at the car park, intact, driving up and down slowly looking for a space he was beat a couple of times by some quicker more experienced drivers into an empty spaces. Then with much dexterity on his part he pulled in a large parking spot just outside the door.
‘We can’t park here’ I declared
‘Because its a parent and child space’ I whispered. Seriously I don’t know why I was whispering at all.
‘Well you’re a parent’
‘Huh’ yep that’s all I had
‘You’re a parent and I’m your child’ he winked, winked at me, his parent.
I’ve never been so proud in all my days as I was just then. Only because I have done this before myself with his brother, and now he was doing the very same thing.
Oddly the heavily pregnant lady in the car beside us produced a pang of guilt, so I broke into a limp dragging my right foot behind me into M&S I thought it was only right to make a bit of an effort seeing we’d obtained such a great parking spot.
Yes Ok Ok I’m a proud mother..
The Joy of Eoin and Cian.