NB This is a sponsored post.
It has to be said, that I have loved developing a mature relationship with my own daughter, now that she is grown.
Nowadays I count her as one of my closest friends. This is something I treasure – probably because it was something I was never able to have with my own mother (due to her serious mental health issues), when she was still alive.
It helps to remember the good times from years gone by, and some of the magical moments …
I thought my Mum was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. I used to love watching on the rare occasions she would get dressed up to go somewhere special with my Dad – when she put on her long gown and silver evening shoes, I was convinced that even Cinderella in all her finery could not have looked as beautiful. I couldn’t wait to grow up and be a lady just like her!
I have memories of baking with her in the kitchen, the whir of the old mixmaster, and being allowed to lick the bowl. She kept her favourite recipes in an old exercise book, most written by hand, some cut out of magazines. By the time I left home, the covers were falling off and the pages were covered in spatters and stains. How I wish I had it now! When I was 20, I started one of my own, and covered it in contact to help it last – alas it didn’t work – the covers have long since fallen off! My own daughter, Miss 18, refers to it more than I do now; most of the recipes stored in its pages are also stored in my memory.
There was the time she sewed a dress for my favourite doll one night, and presented it to me as a surprise the next morning – and it wasn’t even Christmas or my birthday!
I loved to look at the collection of dainty perfume bottles arranged on her dressing table, or when she showed me her most special jewellery – the pendant my father had given her for her 21st birthday, her marcasite watch, the brooch she wore on her wedding day, carefully stowed away with pieces of chalk to prevent tarnishing. Sometimes she would even let me play with some of her makeup or the wig she sometimes wore.
When she tied my hair up in pigtails each day before school, she would pretend to be a French hairdresser (complete with dodgy accent).
She told the most wonderful stories from our baby years, and would have my siblings and I in stitches of laughter.
By the time I reached my teens, she would sometimes take me out for a bit of retail therapy – and there was no greater treat than to stop for a slice of cheesecake at her favourite cafe.
When I was 16, she nursed me devotedly when I developed glandular fever and was sick for several weeks.
On my 18th birthday, she took me out for my first cocktail – a brandy alexander.
I couldn’t help wondering what my own daughter would think of as the magical moments with HER mum – me! Her list was eerily familiar:
“Cooking together; the French hairdresser; shopping and coffee dates; drinking mocktails on our cruise.”
It’s funny how none of us truly remember (or appreciate!) the hard yakka our mums did for us. But we remember the magical, often everyday moments … and even unconsciously, go on to recreate them with the next generation.
What are some of the magical moments with mum that stand out in your memory?! The good people at Millers are running a great comp where all you have to do is share your #magicalmomentswithmum – enter on the Millers Facebook page!