Of secret stashes and care stories

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She gave up everything for you, was always at your beck and call ... and so on and so forth... the list of motherhood sacrifices clogging up WhatsApp group chats is endless, particularly around countless mothers days.

As I skim these, a line of worry writhes its way across my forehead. What am I going to blackmail my kids with? Did I take care of myself a tad too much? Did I have too much fun? How on earth am I going to guilt trip them later on? You see, I worry as I don't have too many sob stories in my backpack.

When I want chocolate, I get a box of my favorites and stash them away safely, far away from prying little fingers. Of course, after years of bringing up their mother, now they know where they can always count on finding chocolate!

When they were younger and I wanted some me time, I would get a bunch of kids together, order pizza, leave them with the spouse and step out. These days, they do all that on their own while I go and do whatever I want. Or, if they are at school and I have some spare time, I would go and lose myself amid buds and blooms in a plant nursery. Massages, coffee mornings, ladies night outs...hmmm, the aging backpack certainly doesn't have too many sob stories. The line of worry furrows even deeper...

...was that not the right strategy? I was just following one of my fave WhatsApp forward staples, the variety that urges you to have a good life as you only live once; enjoy today as though it's your last; everyday is a special day; take out the china, wear your silks; eat chocolate, well maybe not that, but of course that too...

If I don't eat chocolates, if I don't go for coffee mornings, then what have I taught my kids? That mom doesn't need chocolates? That mom doesn't need some time for herself? That she can be the wallpaper with faded rose patterns that no one notices, until it's there no more? 

That just won't do. That's completely wrong messaging. 

Instead, I reach for my secret stash, pick out one ball of Lindt, gently twist open the shiny red foil, pick the perfectly shaped orb and pop it in. My son walks in. I raise my hand, charged with all the potency of a stop sign from a police officer. This moment is precious. I close my eyes, the soft wall of milk and cocoa crumbling as the liquid magic melts in my mouth, the chocolate seeping into my soul. For a few divine moments, I am lost to the world, savouring a Lindt, savouring life. It feels so absolutely right. The line of worry smooths itself out...and voila, I get my answer! 

Create care stories, not sob stories!

Then perhaps one day, a few misty years ahead, a young lad who once watched his mom savour a Lindt with perfect abandon, might just fill the secret stash when she can no longer fill it herself...