The Whole Hogge With Jacqueline Hogge

MOTHERS are a pretty amazing bunch, as we were all reminded at the weekend when we celebrated all things Mammy. But lest the cynics among us believe that Mother's Day is but a Hallmark phenomenon, it serves us well to consider the merits in setting aside one day a year to honour the women, without whom none of us would be here. Florists do a roaring trade, as does the hospitality sector, with thousands of Sunday dinners savoured by women who for one day at least are not on cooking duty. Now I know plenty of men out there are fond of whizzing up a Sunday roast, but the lion's share of cooking normally does fall to the fairer sex, especially where there's a troupe of children to feed. Hotels also must make a buck or two on the spa weekend and other indulgent offers pitched at the older children who want to make a fuss of their mamas, in thanks and appreciation for all the things done for them down through the years. So, economically it makes perfect sense to section off a paltry 24 hours to celebrate our mammies. And for those with fewer fiscal concerns, the health benefits may not be scientifically proven, but they certainly exist. The surge of endorphins released as your five-year-old presents herself at the foot of your bed with a bowl of cereal, overflowing with milk and a glass of orange juice is without doubt one of the nicest things to wake up to. The love, care and effort that goes into all those hand-made cards shouldn't be underestimated either, as these are the pieces of paper that will be preserved and remembered long after the flowers have wilted and the Sunday brunch has been digested. But the most potent sign of how spiritually uplifting this one day can be is the sight of families, young and old, celebrating the occasion together, with the matriarchs concerned sporting the biggest and brightest smiles. I spent last Sunday morning enjoying a stroll along the Prom in Salthill. My power walks along the beaches of the West coast are under review following an irritating chest infection that has laid me low the best part of a fortnight. But I digress. During that one hour, the number of mammies enjoying the spring sunshine in the company of their children, young and old, was a reminder of how precious and special everyone's mammy is. I didn't have my rugrats with me, I was meeting up with them later in the day for the obligatory Sunday roast, but it got me thinking that maybe Mother's Day should undergo a little bit of a revamp with the emphasis taken off how wonderful us mothers are, and replaced with a celebration of how lucky we are instead. I'm not for one second suggesting we take the things our mammies do for granted, which let's be honest, we get away with the other 364 days of the year, but since I became a mammy it's been too easy to whinge and moan about the hard work involved in rearing two small children. So I reckon it's time those of us lucky enough to be members of the mammy club realised how blessed we are to have such a privileged place in society. Yes we're the cooks, cleaners, nurses, taxi drivers, personal shoppers, not to mention the ATMs for our offspring but we're also in the amazing position of receiving the best love there is, pure and unconditional which is precious and priceless. True, the unconditional love isn't really factored into the equation when you're being sprayed with projectile vomit at 4am or when you're getting a call from the other side of the world to tell you that the airline on which little darling had a flight booked has gone bust and in order to get home she'll need the bones of two grand to get her pretty little ass back on Irish soil. But no matter how old they are, they're part of you and you do whatever it takes to ensure they're safe, healthy and happy. That's not to say it's all plain sailing of course. There are many times when you find yourself ready to scale the back garden wall to escape the madness, your previous hideout being the hotpress, but they rumbled you. I've previously devoted a column to the little man in my life, but it's his eldest sister who has changed my world irrevocably since she arrived on the scene almost six years ago now. Totally clueless before she blew me away for the first time with those big blue eyes, the mammy I am now has been shaped and defined by the little girl who steals my heart and shreds my nerves on a daily basis. She is sharp as a tack, old before her time and proving to be pretty handy with a hurley as it happens so lord only knows the adventures we'll have as she grows up. But it's her determined, stubborn nature, which I will reluctantly admit she didn't exactly get from the wind, that will ultimately define our relationship, which is as loving as it is tempestuous. She knows exactly what buttons to press and the precise amount of pressure to apply to send me skyward and while I should have a better handle on not letting a five-year-old wind me up, there is a breaking point after which age has nothing to do with it and it's an out-and-out battle of wills, which I don't always win. Then come the teary apologies and promises of better behaviour in future, which is the very minimum I will accept as end game in these messy affairs. And then when she's fast asleep, I'm the one lying awake in bed wondering what I'm doing so wrong. Of course it's only by talking to other mammies, the honest variety out there, that you discover such tantrums are played out in countless other bedrooms night after night, which allays your fears that you are possibly the worst mother on the planet. A fact underpinned when I seek solace from Mammy H who assures me she doesn't know where the little monkey gets it from as yours truly was the quietest, calmest child in the house. But even on the nights where the tears on the pillow are mine, I know in my heart that there's no other job I'll ever want or cherish as much as the mammy gig. It's been a much tougher assignment than I ever imagined, and while I used to whinge that women should be warned of the true rigours of bearing and rearing children, I reckon even if you did know the true extent of exhaustion, frustration and self -doubt these little people would bring into your world, you'd still do it in a heartbeat. Mother's Day is definitely a day to honour the mammy in your life, but as a mammy I've decided it's also going to be a day I park all the gripes and complaints concerning my untidy house, overflowing laundry bin, fussy eating darlings and savour all that is wonderful about the best job in the world.