It's Mother' Day again. I hope mothers everywhere have a wonderful day.

Painting is "Waratah" by Sandra Wilson.

Recently a friend posed a question. "How will my children remember me?" I have been thinking about this ever since. To be honest, I think I was a better teacher than mother. Don't get me wrong. I love my children dearly and am very proud of them. The problem is that I was too busy trying to 'do the right thing' and I don't think I knew what the 'right thing' was for my kids. There really should be some training for parents, especially now that the extended family is vanishing and there are so many single parents. It is such an important job. Many, like me, have nothing to do with babies until their own arrive. Scary. I guess all we can do is our best with the circumstances delt us.

My relationship with my own mother was fraught. Mum worked hard to make us independant. She succeeded but that didn't make our relationship easier. Quite the opposite. The funny thing is that, despite our conflicts, her influence still lingers although she has been dead for many years. I wonder if my influence will be as strong?

A Visit from Mother. by Frances M. Mackay.

Mother dropped in on Monday.
It was washing day.
She arrived at about ten thirty
and the clothes weren't on the line.
I was in the lounge
reading a book.

She came again on baking day,
Wednesday. It was cold.
I opened a packet of anzacs
and shared them with my friends.
My tins were empty -I'm no great cook.

Thursday she was nowhere around,
I was mending some shirts.
Neatly stitching up holes,
repairing seams, sewing on buttons,
turning frayed cuffs.
Domestic detritus.

Friday she joined me in the garden.
We sat together on the stool,
idly pulling weeds,
picking daisies and smelling roses.
We've planted the same roses
on her grave.