These divine delicacies that I received this morning in honour of my maternal marvellousness, were NOT a Mothers' Day gift from any of my children, but a gift from their father, who seems to appreciate what a good mother I am a tiny bit more than they do.
But never mind. I have my memories of when they did appreciate their darling mother. The best of these was when my youngest, who would have been three at the time, realised at the morning present giving that he hadn't gotten me anything (I didn't expect him to, my other two had made gifts for me at school), exclaimed with tears in his eyes: 'I didn't know how to get you anything!' before tearing off downstairs at a desperate pace and returning a short while later, despite his very short legs struggling up the stairs, with a single miniature daisy that he'd picked from the lawn, ran up to me and handed it to me with an adorable smile and hug.
Chocolates are good, yes, especially when they're French, like these, but that single daisy was better than all the chocolate in France - and I couldn't even eat it. It's the thought that counts, and that lasts over time, even when that child has long forgotten that he once thought you were the bees knees and the best daisy in the business.
Happy Daisy Day, Mum.
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