She arrived on a broomstick... with berroca and Japanese takeaway

My Mum doesn't drive. She never has - well for as long as I've known her anyway.

For the most part, as children this merely meant we had greater opportunity to enjoy everyday adventures on a more regular basis by virtue of the fact that we had to walk, ride our bikes or take the bus to most places. It didn't worry us. We were kids. We had energy and enthusiasm to burn. We loved adventure.

Although occasionally, when something last minute came up or Dad was away or there otherwise was a need for a car or any fast mode of travel, I would worry. Just slightly.  And Mum would sense my worry and assure me with her big bright beautiful smile that everything would be fine. I promise, she would say.

And she always kept her promise. And I would wonder, how did she do it? How did she get to this ballet concert? How did she manage to buy that incidental item late at night that of course I urgently needed the next day for school? How did she get to the sports carnival?

"I used my broomstick!" she would tell us. And for a long while, I actually believed she had a magical broomstick that she would use only for emergencies. Every once in a while I would suggest she should use it or ask whether we could borrow it... until I was about 9 when I discovered that Mum's magical broomstick was in fact a taxi...After that, I didn't think of that magical broomstick again.

Until that is, the day after I wrote this post.

You see, I crumbled on the phone to Mum. Nothing major and of course with perspective nothing deserving of that post. But that is how I felt at the time and I am aloud to feel otherwise I wouldn't be human. Right?

Justin had been away for two weeks for work, which happened to coincide with the first two weeks I had started working an additional day, during a busy time and with a number of critical and urgent matters, not to mention Christmas to organise and some upsetting news about a dear friend. Not major but enough at the time.

I had finished my call to Mum assuring her that she needn't come over and I would be fine. And after feeling overwhelmed, I decided the best thing I could do right there and then was to give in and just enjoy a world of make believe with Amelie in her wonderland.

So we ran away from bears and monsters and dinosaurs. We played shops and hairdressers. She made me birthday cakes of pegs and we ate our cake and chatted in her cubby over cups filled with pebble tea. And then we built sandcastles in her sandpit and just as I let out a sigh, thinking about the reality of organising dinner and facing the next day....I looked up and there was Mum, carrying a grocery bag with a family pack of Berroca* and two serves of steamed chicken noodles.

She had arrived on her broomstick...

...and she saved the day.


* Berocca is to Mum what Windex was to the Dad in the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Short of a holiday, it fixes everything. I once scoffed at this idea until after putting up with feeling like crap for about a year and discovering that I was vitamin B and D deficient and anemic. Needless to say after a course of Berocca, I felt human again. Mum's always right.

I should also point out that this post is in no way sponsored by Berocca...or Windex for that matter. It's just a family secret that works.