NB This is a sponsored post.
It has to be said, that I have loved developing a mature relationship with my own daughter, now that she is grown.
Nowadays I count her as one of my closest friends. This is something I treasure –ย probably because it was something I was never able to have with my own mother (due to her serious mental health issues), when she was still alive.
It helps to remember the good times from years gone by, and some of the magical moments …
I thought my Mum was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. I used to love watching on the rare occasions she would get dressed up to go somewhere special with my Dad – when she put on her long gown and silver evening shoes, I was convinced that even Cinderella in all her finery could not have looked as beautiful. I couldn’t wait to grow up and be a lady just like her!
I have memories of baking with her in the kitchen, the whir of the old mixmaster, and being allowed to lick the bowl. She kept her favourite recipes in an old exercise book, most written by hand, some cut out of magazines. By the time I left home, the covers were falling off and the pages were covered in spatters and stains. How I wish I had it now! When I was 20, I started one of my own, and covered it in contact to help it last – alas it didn’t work – the covers have long since fallen off! My own daughter, Miss 18, refers to it more than I do now; most of the recipes stored in its pages are also stored in my memory.
There was the time she sewed a dress for my favourite doll one night, and presented it to me as a surprise the next morning – and it wasn’t even Christmas or my birthday!
I loved to look at the collection of dainty perfume bottles arranged on her dressing table, or when she showed me her most special jewellery – the pendant my father had given her for her 21st birthday, her marcasite watch, the brooch she wore on her wedding day, carefully stowed away with pieces of chalk to prevent tarnishing. Sometimes she would even let me play with some of her makeup or the wig she sometimes wore.
When she tied my hair up in pigtails each day before school, she would pretend to be a French hairdresser (complete with dodgy accent).
She told the most wonderful stories from our baby years, and would have my siblings and I in stitches of laughter.
By the time I reached my teens, she would sometimes take me out for a bit of retail therapy – and there was no greater treat than to stop for a slice of cheesecake at her favourite cafe.
When I was 16, she nursed me devotedly when I developed glandular fever and was sick for several weeks.
On my 18th birthday, she took me out for my first cocktail – a brandy alexander.
I couldn’t help wondering what my own daughter would think of as the magical moments with HER mum – me! Her list was eerily familiar:
“Cooking together; the French hairdresser; shopping and coffee dates; drinking mocktails on our cruise.”
It’s funny how none of us truly remember (or appreciate!) the hard yakka our mums did for us. But we remember the magical, often everyday moments … and even unconsciously, go on to recreate them with the next generation.
What are some of the magical moments with mum that stand out in your memory?! The good people at Millers are running a great comp where all you have to do is share your #magicalmomentswithmum – enter on the Millers Facebook page!
KezUnprepared says
Aww that’s so lovely. I wonder what my Little Mister will say about me one day.
Janet Camilleri says
I was amazed at just how similar are “magic moments” were x
Emily @ Have A Laugh On Me says
Such lovely memories. I used to love looking in my mum’s mirror and looking at all her cosmetics, earrings etc. I don’t have mine on display as we don’t have the space. I’ll have to create some other memories for my girl. x
Janet Camilleri says
I’m sure she’ll have plenty of great memories regardless with you for a mum!
Renee Wilson says
Beautiful post and memories, Janet. The thing I remember most about mum is the amazing birthday cakes she made us out of The Women’s Weekly books. She also had a recipe book that was an old exercise book too. Hers was covered in brown paper ๐
Janet Camilleri says
Nothing like a REAL recipe book ๐
Bec @ Seeing the Lighter Side says
What a wonderful idea! I LOVE Millers. I walked past their new range of PJs today. Must go back in when I don’t have two preschoolers hanging off me:-)
Janet Camilleri says
I’ve picked up quite a few things there lately for my upcoming overseas trip – 1 week to go!!!!
Chantel says
My memories of mum all seem to be based around the house – learning to sew, learning her lasagne recipe, listening to music with her – but she is so much more to me, I don’t think those memories really do any justice to the impact and influence she has had on my life. You’ve got me thinking now ๐ x
Janet Camilleri says
Sounds like you had a wonderful mother – blessed x
Rhianna says
The pretending to be a hairdresser made me giggle. When my biggest girl was little I would put on an accent and pretend to be a hairdresser to make hair washing more fun. Lovely post Janet.
Vicki | The Fashionable Mum says
Lovely post Janet! I had lots of fun writing my Magic Moments post for Millers – it was lovely to spend a couple of hours reminiscing.x
Lynn says
I too have rescued my Mothers made up recipe book all falling to pieces and splated with the baking of the day My Mothers hand writing makes me feel so close to her again I often look to her book for those old unusual recipe that always go down with great gusto
Janet Camilleri says
I reckon the best cookbooks are covered in splatters ๐
Jo says
What a lovely post Janet. You had some beautiful memories with your Mum. I loved the French hairdresser memory!
Janet Camilleri says
I feel blessed to have these memories Jo. I don’t think any of my younger siblings can remember the happy days before mum got sick x
Fran says
I still have my battered exercise book with recipes from my mother and Aunty, her sister. Plus a marcasite brooch from Mum and a ring from my Aunty. These types of posts always get the mind thinking of enjoyable times in the past.