Hey Mum

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Mother’s day was yesterday here in England.
A whole day dedicated to the person who brought us up (shut up Dad – your day is in 3 months).
But even though I love my mum, and she undoubtedly knows this, there are so many reasons why I love her that I don’t think I’ve ever told her. So hey there Mumma – this one’s for you.

You taught me to eat food outside of chicken.

Now I know you’re getting all experimental in the kitchen these days, with your michelin-starred chef cookbooks on the shelf and your pig head in the fridge, but back in the days when I lived at home with you (lol, remember those days?) chicken was a pretty regular occurrence. Roast chicken, fajitas and that chicken in asparagus with cheesy crisp thing on top (what on earth was that devilish magic).
Chicken was your jam and you weren’t stopping until you’d cooked chicken ALL of the ways!

Speaking of food… You taught me how to cook.

Not directly. I mean, not outside of spag bol, roast dinners and Welsh cakes.
But your love of chicken and lack of concept of time (lol lets face it, dinner past 8pm was a pretty regular occurrence…) taught me to get my arse in the kitchen and whip up some culinary magic.
Soooo the results weren’t that great and I got pretty addicted to eating tomatoes in any way, shape or form because I couldn’t burn them… I still learnt!

You saw me long before I saw myself.

It’s only recently that I realised how much I love writing, but looking back you always did. You gave me the thousands of notebooks to doodle and write notes in. You bought me notebook after notebook when I turned into the biggest paper waster because if I ruined the front cover I HAD to start all over again. You encouraged me to enter the school poetry competition, which got me published (even though you lost the book I was published in you terribly forgetful person.) You gave my short stories to your friends when my little thirteen year old-self didn’t believe your praise – and whilst I still can’t believe that you gave my unicorn story (because seriously who doesn’t love unicorns) to my far-too-old-for-me-crush (rude) I’ll never forget that it taught me to always try, because the worst that could happen isn’t all that bad. Yano. Unless you’re skydiving without a parachute or something, in which case it’s pretty much just natural selection weaning out the stupids.

You taught me independence.

I was bullied. For years. It was heartbreaking both for you and me. Not even my best friends (hah) helped me because they were terrible friends scared that the bullies would target them. You couldn’t help me, despite how much you tried, and the teachers at my school were completely useless. But I got through it. Eventually. I may have shouted, and cried and tore up a few of my precious notebooks, but you taught me that when nobody can help you, you have to help yourself. You told me that in ten years I wouldn’t give a fuck (yes you definitely did say fuck) what they thought – and I hate to be an over-achiever and all that, but I realised it after five. You taught me to be strong enough for myself, without ever meaning to, and you took me to Choi Kwang Do classes so if all else failed I could always kick some ass.

You’ve always let me get on with my life.

And you have no idea how much that’s meant to me.
You’ve never guilt tripped me for moving out. Never told me off for turning up unannounced and eating all of your tip tops (I have a slight feeling that’s because you never knew it was me, in which case I probably lied and blamed somebody else… Soz!) And you’ve never stopped me from anything, even if it meant me moving to the other side of the world. You’ve made all of the tough decisions I’ve ever had to make that much easier by encouraging me to try and by buying me arctic roll supporting me if I failed.

These are only a few of the reasons I love you Marge, but of all the mums there are in this world, I’m so terribly glad that you’re mine.