Ok I may have alluded to before but me and mummy ( or rather mummy and I) had a very unique sense of humour that no other person really understood, but we did. We could be on the phone and say the most random things to each other. It never really mattered if anyone found us funny. It was like we had our own secret world that only we were apart of. I loved our little world. As much fun as it could be, it didn’t stop the pair of us getting into trouble from time to time. Most notably when I was a child, say about 8/9.
We had all went for lunch. Mummy, my big sister, big brother and of course me. We went to this local café of no real imporatance, just a normal everyday café. It was kind of odd thinking about it as its really the only time I remember the four of us going for lunch. Not that we were all antisocial, it just sticks out as something we didn’t do a lot of. As usual my sister was chatting away at 100 words per minute, my brother patiently listening, and me trying to chirp up when I could. In my youth my sister could always out converse me. She took it to the degree of an Olympic sport. I however grew into the little chatterbox myself and slowly but surely the apprentice soon became the master. Not that it was a competition of course as we all loved to chat. I can still ring my sister up and have a 3 hour long conversation about absolutely nothing, usually over a glass of pinot. My brother is not a talker. I wouldn’t just randomly call him up and start a conversation about how I had a shit day and needed a chat, however if I rang up and asked for help he wouldn’t even flinch. That’s the thing about familys.. We are all different and we all play our part so to speak. So back to the story….
We were having lunch in our little non-descript café in Ballymena. Completely uneventful lunch, we eat, mummy paid, we left. Usual family stuff. We walked out and as we were walking in twos (brother and sister at the front, lioness and cub at the rear) my mummy looked at me with that familiar look of devilment. I knew this look well. She was up to no good, and wanted my involvement. She looked ahead and turned to me with biggest grin… “look at my two wee puddins ahead.”, the reaction was priceless. I don’t know who looked more disgusted, my brother or my sister. They were enraged that their dear mother would pass remark in such a fashion. At the time, and years later, mummy would always maintain that the comment was meant to be a compliment, or a cute phrase she had came up with. True mummy liked a nickname.
ergo – Michael was – Peanut, her little peanut to be precise.
At no point in our family history, before or since, has the word “puddin” ever been used. She knew this also. You see, this is where the naughty side of her comes in. That day, for whatever reason. She was feeling naughty and her two eldest were taking the brunt. Now if you are reading this thinking, what a cruel bitch. You are entirely missing the point. She was a lioness to all three. She loved all of us equal. I think their is always a different relationship with the youngest. We are the last baby, and mummys have a hard time shaking this image off. Also my brother and sister were older (obviously) and I was a child on my own. They were closer in age, so it was really just me. Me and Mummy. We bonded together over the years and developed well into our very co-dependent relationship of mother and son.
The four of us would always talk about this particular story. The brother and sister would look at each other and slightly grump their faces, though I know their was a little smile inside… deep…. deep down.
I think if when she was alive I told my mother that she was going to feature in a blog about our lives she probably would have gave me a stern face and in her high tone say… “now Michael!”. Though I hope she would read the words and appreciate the sentiment behind them. Words cannot really do the women justice…. though I have another 294 days to try.
night night xx
A Grievers Guide to the Galaxy 