I wasn’t going to write this blog. Not because Mother’s Day has already passed (which it has) or because I don’t love my mum immensely (because I do) or because I don’t think she deserves her own entry (because she does) but because it meant I wouldn’t be able to send it to her to edit before I shared it.
Mum is my editor. She’s also my publicist. And my teacher. And my coach. And my counsellor. And my best friend. She’s the first person I call when I have something exciting to share. Or when I have a problem. Or when I need advice on something. Or when I’m stuck in peak hour traffic and need a distraction to help pass the time.
Now, my dad is also many of those things (except editor or publicist) but there’s something about a mother/daughter relationship that results in three phone calls a day and hour long conversations. Or maybe that’s just because we both love to talk.
Mum is a journalist by trade and has been my idol for as long as I can remember. Whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up I would answer, “a journalist, just like my mum.” I’d carry around a clipboard and interview my parents and siblings and have now become notorious for conducting “20 questions” whenever I meet someone new. I can honestly say I would not be able to call myself an “author” if it wasn’t for Mum. She’s the one who encouraged me to finish writing ‘Grace on the Court’ and the one who pushed me to try to get it published. She’s the one who edited it cover to cover and gave me detailed feedback and helped me put together storylines. I never submit a piece of work or write a single thing without sending it to Mum first. She’s my muse, and my safety blanket and I honestly don’t know what I would do without her.
Like my dad, Mum also ignited my love for sport from a young age. She is the most competitive person I have ever met. And that’s including my Swifts teammates. She hates losing. Whether it’s an argument, a game of scrabble or a tennis match, she’s not satisfied with anything less than winning. I truly do sympathise with anyone who gets seated next to Mum at a Swifts, Glenelg or SHOCs game…
Over the Christmas break I filled in for Mum’s tennis team (where the average age is 55+) thinking I’d enjoy a leisurely hit on a Saturday afternoon. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Our game went to a tie-breaker (at 9-9) and I was honestly more nervous than I was for a game of Suncorp Super Netball. I didn’t think I’d be fed or have a place to sleep that night if we didn’t come away with the win. Thankfully, after being yelled at by Mum to “just stay on my side”, we took the game 12-10 and I breathed a sigh of relief that our relationship would remain intact. Looking back now, to have been able to play doubles with my mum is probably one of the most special memories we have shared, despite the fact that an almost-60-year-old showed me up.
While my brothers and I love to pay Mum out about how competitive she is, it is one of her greatest traits. She is one of the strongest, bravest and most courageous people I have ever met. If you were to scan a room at a party, you’ll always find Mum surrounded by a group of people (most likely men) caught in a heated debate over some sort of issue. The issue could be as serious as politics or religion or as mundane as a game of football or netball but her passion will always be the same. It almost caused my dad to break up with her when they first started dating as he thought all his friends would hate the fact that she always argued with them and wanted to be involved in everything. She would kick the footy with them in the backyard, force them to let her ski behind the boat and outdrink them all at night. When he mentioned this to his friends, they pretty much told him “if you don’t marry her then we will” and the rest is history. I guess that’s where I get my inner-tomboy from!
I think a lot of Mum’s strength came from living in a kibbutz in Israel straight after University. As a 21-year-old, traveling halfway across the world to live with a bunch of strangers in a foreign country is a pretty gutsy thing to do. She would live rent-free in the kibbutz as long as she worked during the day. She would write home to her family about her job at a ‘factory producing the fingers for latex gloves’, explaining how weird she thought it was that they “made the fingers separately”. It wasn’t until some months later that she realised she’d actually been working in a condom factory. But I guess ignorance really is bliss, especially when you come from a Catholic family!
This sense of adventure continued throughout Mum’s life as she and Dad spent a year living in Ethiopia and traveling around the world. They were robbed of all their money, cameras and passports in Dar es Salaam in Tanzania (Dad tried to run after them but had a machete pulled on him when he got close so did the sensible thing and backed off), and were scammed in Nairobi in Kenya when they tried to change money over only to be chased by a security guard and left with nothing but cut up bits of newspaper for money – nothing like a bit of character building! They then travelled throughout the Middle East, meeting an Italian couple on the border of Turkey and Syria as they too were having trouble crossing from one country to the next. After swapping stories and eating (according to Mum and Dad) “the best pasta they’d ever had”, they continued their travels together through Iraq and Jordan (and everywhere in between) before going their separate ways as Mum and Dad met up with Mum’s Mum (my Grandma) in England. They stayed in touch with the Martinucci’s (the Italian couple) and during a family trip around Europe we stayed at their home in a little village in Tuscany for Easter. Especially during times like these, I’m so grateful for these family holidays and the experiences we shared. I just hope that one day I’ll be able to meet my mum (and dad) in England after a whirlwind trip around the world!
It’s hard living away from home but I think that it has made me cherish every moment that I get to spend with my family and not take a second for granted. I never would have played tennis with Mum if I was still living at home and we wouldn’t have spent nights playing cards or walking down the beach if I saw her all the time. And more importantly, she wouldn’t be coming to Sydney next weekend to watch me play and go to see Hamilton if we weren’t living in different cities. I guess it really is true that quality is more important than quantity!
Love you Mum!
Love Maddy xx