Are you an International Woman?

It's International Women's Day here today. This is a bank holiday in Russia, and is treated as a day for women generally (rather than mothers in particular) to be feted by the men in their lives, be they husbands, sons, boyfs, work colleagues, etc etc. If I were working outside the home (as @crankymonkeys pointed out this morning on Twitter) my desk would have been covered with flowers from male colleagues to thank me just for being a woman (along with all that entails).

But I ain't. Working outside the home, that is.

So, whilst I would love to regale you with stories of breakfast in bed, being taken out for lunch, being showered with goodies and generally treated like a queen, I can't - because I wasn't. It was just another ordinary day in the Potski household. Except of course that if it were a normal working day the children would have been at school, but as it was a bank holiday, I got to have them at home to look after myself. Which is of course nice but hardly the point, I would venture to say, on what is supposed to be a restful day for women...

Husband assures me that all this will change tomorrow, perhaps as a result of my putting him on notice that I. Am. Doing. Nothing. And on the plus side, we haven't actually got around to any of the household admin he had so enthusiastically planned for our 'free' day together. Which at least saves me from the 'How did you celebrate International Women's Day, Potski?' 'Why, I did my tax return...' conversation next week and the subsequent pitying looks from friends.

Finally, I will leave you with a snippet of conversation between myself and my younger son this morning, which should perhaps have warned me that any ideas I may have had about being 'queen for a day' should be firmly nipped in the bud...

Me: "It's International Women's Day today, Boy #2. That means you have to be nice to me."

Boy #2 (assuming an amazed expression): "What??? ALL DAY???"

What would make YOUR perfect Mother's Day?

We had International Women's Day here a couple of weeks ago. This is a big deal here in Russia; it stands in for Mother's Day, and I suppose is better in a way since it celebrates all women, mothers or not. (For a full explanation of how Women's Day works in Moscow I recommend you pop on over to fellow blogger Jennifer's site Dividing My Time for a tongue in cheek examination of what it means for the female population of this city. Note: she's not exaggerating about the extra traffic...)

It got me thinking about Mother's Day back in the UK. I've noticed that there are already some bloggers posting on this subject, so rather than re-inventing the wheel I'm recycling the post below which I originally wrote for a local magazine when we were based in London, a couple of years ago...

So it’s Mother’s Day very soon, and I bet you think it’s yet another made-up tradition to help stationers sell more cards, and garages more carnations, don’t you?

Far from it. This day has heritage — its roots in the UK go back at least as far as the 16th century, although not until Victorian times did it start to assume the form it has now. Then it became the date when domestics were given a day off to go and visit their families. Housemaids would travel home to visit their mothers, Simnel cake in hand (similar to traditional Christmas cake, but without the icing), before haring back to their employers at daybreak next morning to black the grating, iron the newspaper, and kiss the postman. (I have clearly been watching far too much ‘Larkrise to Candleford’).

Nowadays, Mother’s Day consists of a card, and possibly being let off the washing-up (which you just know you are going to have do again later to get rid of the grease spots on the glasses). And if you're very lucky you might even avoid the grease spots hazard altogether with a family lunch out, assuming the credit card isn’t being crunched too hard…

All that’s very nice, of course, but really? Could Do Better. So this year I am giving due notice to all and sundry that my perfect Mother’s Day would consist of...

1 Dutiful Daughterhood
Waking up secure in the knowledge that I have not — as has been known — forgotten to send my mother a card. (Clearly, this one comes under ‘note to self’ category). This will then remove the need for that traditional last-minute panicked phone call to my sister (who handily lives in the same town as our parents), to beg her on bended knee to buy some flowers to drop in to Mum on my behalf.

2 Glorious Gifts
Being presented with suitably relevant and low-key gifts by my husband and sons (family please note: egg timers, a boxed set of ‘Best of Top Gear’ DVDs, and a road atlas of Europe are not amongst the presents deemed acceptable on this occasion).

3 Bathroom Monopoly
Being able to take as long as I like in the bathroom. To spell it out clearly; there will be no interruptions by husbands looking for spare loo rolls or small boys flying Playmobil airplanes and/or needing their bottoms wiping.

4 Chocolate
Ignoring a healthy breakfast in favour of a large box of Rococco chocolates. And not having to share them.

5 No chores
The general absence of cooking and tidying up duties. Not that those things shouldn’t get done, you understand. Just not by me. Not on Mothering Sunday.

6 The Big One
The big one. The Holy Grail for all mothers everywhere, if my straw poll on the matter is anything to go by. Please, no humdrum decisions. I would like one day of the year when I don’t have to decide what the children wear. One day when I don’t have to plan (or cook) dinner, or decide whether today’s is going to be a dark or a light wash. I still want these things done, mind you, and I want them done properly. Just — again — not by me.

7 But bigger still...
I’ve just worked out what the ingredient would be that would really make My Perfect Mother’s Day. My Mum. Here. With me. In spite of the fact that of course if she were I would need to be doing all those things in Point 6 (washing, laundry, humdrum decisions, cooking) for her rather than having them done for me. Which rather negates the whole thing, now I come to think of it... Still. I think I could live with that.