Mothering Sunday has nothing whatsoever to do with the saccharine Hallmark fest.
Nauseating is the word of choice.
True my long-time friend of more than half a century is and has been a terrific mother. Something that seemed to come to her naturally.
But Sunday as in Mothering Sunday has always been in praise of the Mother Church! Nothing whatsoever to do with sprogging and coping with dirty nappies, feeding one end of the digestive tract and cleaning up the other.
There, I've said it, I've acknowledged the elephant in the room.
To indulge in a mothering one has to have had a baked apple pie caring, hugging and in all ways delightful mother.
There are those whose mothers were just the opposite. Cleaning the house maniacally and thereby making everyone uncomfortable. Two-faced liars putting up a front of congeniality for the rest of the world whilst making family life uncomfortable and threatening. Throwing treasured items away or disposing of them at a whim. Ruining meals and insisting they be eaten. An endless list...