Every year since 1990, around this time, I can start to expect a phone call . . . . from me Mum.
You see, it’s about this time of year that she starts thinking about Christmas.
And how she’s going to spend it.
In 1989, my Mum decided that she needed to be ‘selfish’ as per the instructions from her psychiatrist, and she told her three daughters on Christmas Eve that she would be going somewhere by herself for Christmas Day. Then she got in her car and drove away.
Two years ago, 2012, I was looking forward to a quiet Christmas with my Boys.
Crayfish, pavlova & champagne + a long walk on the beach.
God – I was SO looking forward to it.
Then on December 19th, I got a call from my Mum telling me that had been told by her (new) psychiatrist that she shouldn’t spend Christmas alone, and that she (my Mum) has suggested to her psych that she spend it in Busso with me, which of course the psych thought was a great idea. So five days before Christmas my Mum rocked up at my place with her cat and moved into my bedroom and my bed, and I slept on a mattress on the floor in my dining room.
For eight weeks.
So, it’s coming to that time of year again. When my Mum will be thinking about how she will spend her Christmas. But this year, she has her boyfriend/partner and his kids and grandkids. My Mum loves playing Happy Families with them all. They all think she is wonderful. They feel bad for her that none of her children (the alive ones) have anything to do with her. Because she’s such a loving and generous person. Always offering her time and assistance to others. Always there when you need her. Warmly welcoming and farewelling, with a hug and a kiss.
And so she will call me (the second call this year).
And she will ask me to come and spend Christmas with her.
But I would rather have bamboo skewers shoved under my fingernails.