I forgot to cover Valentine’s Day. We don’t usually do much but we had dinner out this year. And Mr. Waffle bought me roses. I was slightly discombobulated.
Proof of love, of course, but not as much proof as this cheeseboard that he put together for me one evening when I was exhausted. Tea and cheese, the perfect combination. Fight me.
Hot on the heels of my birthday comes Mr. Waffle’s. Everyone’s a bit exhausted from the celebration of mine but we rally. He seemed reasonably pleased with his presents (an enormous pile of books) and I took him out to dinner.
Mr. Waffle and I went to England for the St. Patrick’s Day weekend to visit herself. Low levels of celebration of the national saint but a good time had by all.
After all that goes before, Mother’s Day (where should that apostrophe go? an abiding problem) is generally a bit of a damp squib. As Mr. Waffle put it – there are only a certain number of chips to go around and I have definitely cashed mine in on my birthday. Noble Mr. Waffle bought me flowers and chocolates all the same. A better show than the priest at mass; it was the parable of the prodigal son and he said, “There’s a lot of talk about the father in this gospel reading but no mention of the mother.” Thanks Father. I thought of my own mother who died in 2019; it seems a long time ago in some ways but in others not so long at all. Time is funny that way. I do miss her.