As we have revealed to the world on Facebook, last minute, low effort Mothers Day preparations are within the reach of everyone, (everyone that is, typografikally enlightened of course, the rest of you unbelievers can make your own arrangements); and what is more heartwarming and traditional than breakfast in bed for Mum, surrounded by her golden haired cherubs, with a freshly picked flower on the tray, a cup of her refreshing, favourite tea or coffee served in a delicate fine china cup and saucer, and some lovingly prepared toast with an affectionate message pressed in to it and perhaps some accompanying butter and preserves?. We can provide that unique little toast message with our 'Best Mum Toast Stamp' only £3.00 and potentially the source of GAZILLIONS of brownie points in the maternal mind.
What we cannot provide however, is the rest of the idyllic scene.
The last Mothers Day here at the Temple of typografika started quite promisingly with the delivery of the traditional breakfast tray to the bedside. Things started to get slightly tense when the offspring couldn't agree who would be the one to set the tray down on the bed. Some rather harsh words and subsequently the full small- boy catalogue of scatological references were exchanged, but the tray was eventually set safely down. I checked to make sure there were no raisin's garnishing the meal (as mentioned in previous posts, raisins are a no-no at the temple as the temple monkeys are not fussy about where they perform their ablutions, and quite frankly my eyesight isn't as good as it was - divine typografikal goddess or not) I wonder if specsavers do discounts for deities?.
The offspring then began to present me with their carefully made cards and tokens - but sadly the struggle to be the first to show me, resulted in a garishly coloured card with heavily glued tissue paper balls on the front, being shoved forcefully up my nose and one of the (apparently) flower's dropping off. Weeping, wailing and overturned trays ensued.
Now don't get me wrong, as a sect here at the temple (we actually come under the 'dodgy and weird sect' section in the census 2011), we like a bit of weeping and wailing every now and again, but this was the weeping and wailing of a six year old that believes his fine piece of handcrafted object d'art has been destroyed beyond repair and that only the pain of the philistine who perpetrated this, will be of any comfort.
When I had prised his little fingers from around the throat of his older brother, and I had dispatched them to find their father, I settled back to enjoy my breakfast. I managed to extricate half a slice of the face -down buttered toast from the duvet cover and slid the soggy remains of the other half into Mr S's pyjama trousers next to me on the bed, (he'll just think its his skin condition's erupting again). I then poured the cold tea, now filling the saucer, back into the cup. As I ate my half a slice of toast, picking off what looked like Mr S's body hair as I ate, I could hear the offspring in the far chambers of the temple giggling and whispering to each other (probably collecting monkey 'raisins' to pop into the open mouth of their napping father), and I contentedly settled down to drink my tea knowing they were happy. That was when I discovered the whereabouts of the tissue paper flower....
We at the Temple hope that however you spend your Mothers Day you enjoy it and those last minute gifts(including toast stamps) for gazillions of brownie points are available at www.typografika.co.uk