I’m supposed to go to the kitchen and make noodles.. Well I know they say it will ruin your “flat tummyness” but tonight is not the night for those carrots or that cucumber! I want pepper and spice and yummy! And noodles is the only lazy man’s food I can think of to give me what I desire. But I digress. There’s this issue that has been bugging my mind, and it’s the issue of Motherhood. Not mine. Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday (plus happy children’s day to everyone who their parents still call “my child”). I can’t get her off my mind. Her birthday excites me more than mine(all I can think of during mine are the cars I haven’t bought yet and the deeds not in my name but that’s not the only reason). I know people talk about how their mothers are the best bla bla bla yada yada ok I get it. I mean, most of you haven’t been “mothered” by anyone else have you?
I refuse to call my mum the best mum in the world. That is overused and washed up already. I will rather say that my mum is an exemplary woman, a bright and shinning example of what a mother should be. I cannot love my children any better than my mother’s type of love. But I digress once again.
I want to talk about her as a woman. She was once into pageantry and all that, in her time. She is a Beauty Queen either crowned or not. She has grace and poise and swag. I cannot remember my mum being angry! You would hurt her but she won’t get angry at you. She’s quiet the sensitive woman. She gets hurt instead and makes you feel bad for hurting her with some few words that she would throw your way. Which is worse than her spitting angry words at you. Growing up I used to think she hated me. That she favoured everyone else above me. I wanted all attention I thought I deserved (as a last born na). I was angry and I didn’t like her one bit. I remember when someone asked me if I ever told her “I love you”. I cried so hard that I have never taken out time to tell her how I feel about her. We fell upon hard times during one crazy relocation to one crazy place, and I remember my mum being hardworking and strong and resilient. She still is. She taught me how to be independent and make your own money and never rely on anyone else. I remember how she cooked things out of nothing. She can take 2 twigs and one spoon of grounded pepper only and make fried rice out of it. Magic! I know! Her culinary skills by the way?! Omg she can cooook! My mum’s chin chin recipe would break world record one day (if I have made that for you before, yes, that’s a poor version of her recipe). She’s a caterer, an interior designer, and an events planner. That’s all aside her day’s job, which is being a teacher. I mean, my mother can combine work though. She broke her neck for me. Broke her back for me. Stressed her legs for me. Loved me till I could learn to love myself. Without speaking it, she showed me how to be a strong woman. She showed me how to rise above it all and be a star. I love her.
This write up may seem pretty disorganised but please understand that my emotions are all over the place and it’s really tasking to describe her personality!
Don’t let me even talk about my dad’s family and their own drama. You know how Yoruba people can like to not mind their businesses when it comes to marriage? Exactly! My dad’s mum sef?! My dad’s past nko?  Kai that woman endured. It’s her story to tell not mine. But I saw. I saw a lot. I saw her lose a child. I saw her hold on to God. I saw my mum stoop to conquer. Mama you have conquered. May you live long and may I buy you camaro! And you will drive it and show off to all those people who said your labour over us will be in vain. Mama I love you. No matter how not very far away I am, no matter how much you would like me to call and I don’t, I really really really do love you.
Pick up your pen, and write something lovely about your mother often. Not a wole soyinka prose, just a heartfelt expression. Not to show off on bbm, but to let her know.
Now, it’s really too late for noodles. Let me go and wash my carrot 😦

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