March 11th 2018

Today we had a family dinner for Mother’s Day. My eldest sister came back from London, and she, my other sister and I went around Mum and Dad’s to cook a roast lamb — well, my eldest sister did all of the cooking, I just stuck to my strengths and offered my help sporadically between refilling wine glasses.


The roast lamb was absolutely fantastic. My sister did a great job, all by herself. But, as good as it was, I don’t imagine that the food was my Mum’s favourite part of today. I’m fairly sure that what my Mum enjoyed the most about Mother’s Day was that we were all sat around the table together.

Nowadays it’s rare that all five of us are in the same place at the same time, and even rarer that we get to eat together. But today we were, and we did. And we sat around the dining room table, the five of us, for five hours. Talking. Chatting. Gossiping. Laughing. Catching up.

That happens so rarely that I know that Mum wouldn’t have cared what we were eating (except maybe KFC — she really doesn’t like KFC). It was just fortunate for the rest of us that the roast leg of lamb my sister cooked was absolutely gorgeous.

When we all lived at home we ate dinner together every day as a family. We’d all gather around the table every night at 6:30 and eat together, no matter what. When we were younger we’d have to come in for dinner at 6:30, and as we grew older we’d go out after dinner at 6:30. Dinner was always on the table at 6:30, and we were always around it.

We only stopped having dinner together when we had all moved out. And that’s why days like today are so important to my Mum, I think, because when we’re all around the table eating dinner together it’s just like it used to be.

Until tomorrow, and until next time, Happy Mother’s Day, Mum.



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