I’m having Mammy C over to mine this Mothering Sunday. That sounds threatening, no? I’ll bleedin’ Mother ye. All. Day. Long.

Anywho, the tree to my apple is coming over for a late lunch/ early dinner….Linner? Nah. Beepbeepbeep backing away from that suggestion.. I’m serving food whenever it’s bloody ready, basically.

After the usual song and dance around the offer to celebrate her gender specific parenting, “No dinner out isn’t necessary”, “You can cook, but I’ll bring the roast” and other Mammy Logic Spirals, we finally negotiated to her coming to mine, where I’ll cook the flipping food and she’s bringing dessert.

Not a total win but she’d end up doing something on the sly or calling with alternative suggestions in the meantime and she’s waaaaay better at baking than me. So.

Dad will be there too, yaay! No arguing out of him when it comes to being fed. Also a friend over from Madrid and our mutual liver ruiner in arms, Jo, will join us to heal Saturday night’s damage with ALL THE MEAT and plenty of Campo Viejo.

Since I couldn’t decide on what to make, I’ve decided to make the Greek herb roast lamb again and basted pork with garlic-y peas, bean and bacon mix. Roasted veg and mashed spuds will make an appearance. I’ll serve all on the table and everyone can help themselves. Should be enough to keep everyone happy.

If you haven’t convinced your beloved mother to be treated yet, fear not. Throw Momma on the Green LUAS and hop off at The Fitzwilliam Hotel. Citron have just the thing for the woman who gave you life and put up with your nonsense all these years.

Get to it! Owen loves his Momma, and so do you!

*******

Here’s to all the mothers that made us into (mostly) functioning adults, didn’t pimp our sex tape or sell our childhoods to creepy producers in exchange for a line of coke the length of Long Island or make a family appearance on Jeremy Kyle seem like a good idea.