Mothering Sunday.

Image credit: Mothering Sunday

You probably already know that Mothering Sunday was not originally to honour personal mothers, but to return to your ‘mother’ church, the one where you were baptized and instructed in the spiritual ways of your religion.

Its old names include ‘Refreshment Sunday’ and ‘Rejoicing Sunday’ because after a hard winter it was a day that working people could leave the daily grind of their service and return home.

The end of Lent was in sight and Easter on the horizon so the church even allowed marriages on this Sunday, which were otherwise banned in the shrivening atmosphere of the Lenten period.

I am not a church goer, myself.

But I love all those ideas of hope and optimism and homecoming that are expressed in the history of Mothers’ Day. 

It can be hard to get excited about another round of suggesting my children show me appreciation for all I do for them, more or less forcing them to produce yet another bunch of daffs. 

These days I get more pleasure thinking about what is important to me about mothering in its wider sense: where I came from, who’s been special to me in my past – my own parents of course, both now sadly departed – but also where I came from, what brings comfort and what there is to look forward to in the rising Spring. 

This week ...

... after a trying time of battling snow and gales, I’m thinking particularly about the soul-soothing benefits of what is familiar and nostalgic, like this wonderful reminder of my favourite childhood story teller, Roald Dahl and his genius illustrators.

Roald Dahl witches

Image credit: Roald Dahl The Witches

I guess it’s rather advertising the competition, but I love Quentin Blake so much. So much in fact that I bought a little drawing of his at the splendid Jerwood Gallery in Hastings when I was down there the other week.

Quentin Blake illustration

Not framed yet, but who doesn’t need a cuddly bank manager in their life?

And things to look forward to?

Well, the boys are longing for June, when GCSEs will finally be over and they can stretch out into that long, magical summer of being 16.  Come to think of it, that’s nostalgic for me, too.  1986 was the year my big sister and I spent the whole summer after exams in Oregon, USA. Life long memories of hot tubs, shooting stars & teenage naughtiness …

And I’m looking forward to simple things.

Like packing my thermal leggings away for another year, being able to walk to the shop without slipping over on my behind and having Cadbury’s crème eggs for breakfast. 

Though Archie’s just reminded me they’re already on sale…

Victoria x

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