I’ve Done a Margie

I’ve Done a Margie

Yesterday, a ‘memory’ flashed up on my FaceBook page of my mother from 2012.  She has been gone near on four years, and it was her birthday a couple of days ago.  Therefore, I’m pretty sensitive at the moment, and the tears started flowing, running in torrents down my cheeks.  I had recently read that, at moments like this, we should try to think of something positive about the situation, so I went back through the files in my mind of the happiest times I had with my mum, and it made me smile through the tears.  This also brought up lots of other memories, and I started to laugh, which rolled into a real belly laugh as some of the hilarious scenes playing out like a video in my mind.  It felt good, really good.

My mother was an ‘interesting’ character; she had an incredibly quick wit and a wicked sense of humour, however you really didn’t want to cross her or answer her back.  She was old-school, and there was many a time I felt the flat of her hand on the curve of my bottom, and to be perfectly honest it was probably justly deserved.  She also had a heart of gold, and would do anything to help others.  It’s just that she didn’t have a lot of patience, and certainly ‘didn’t suffer fools gladly’.  And it seems the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.  O. M. G.

Years ago, my sister and I started to affectionally refer to our mother as ‘Margie’.  She was christened Margaret, though in her early years was generally known as ‘Mick’, for the tomboy she was.  Later, more to fit in with her time in England, she was called ‘Margo’.  And I’m sure there were other names as well  …  think I may have given her some during my rebellious teenage years! 

I have three children, and always swore I would be a different type of mother.  For the most part I think I am.  However, somewhere along the way I morphed into my mother.  At times of stress or tiredness, and let’s be frank here, that is most of the years from the time they are born until they leave the nest, I fell back on the phrases Mum used to trot out  .. and I did a Margie!  I don’t just mean the usual lines most mothers say, I was word perfect in quoting her own unique phrases.  And it wasn’t just the words, which were bad enough, it was the looks and the stance as well.  It was just here or there at the beginning, and I was able to adjust what and how I said something.  Or, at the very least, soften how and what was said with a hug, and minus the ‘bottom kiss’ – though there were times where this was also administered.  I knew I was in trouble when I ranted, endlessly and off topic, trotting out all Mum’s favourite sayings while one, two or three pairs of eyes looked up at this monster towering over them, wondering what the hell I was talking about.  Then, as they got older, I could see the hooded look in their eyes as they tried to look focused on what I was saying while they were internally somewhere else entirely.  I’m pretty much sure I still see that look from time to time, OK lots of times… probably most times, if I’m honest, whenever I now open my mouth to speak.  It’s not so bad with the grandkids because they are a very special breed of little people, though now and again I still hear me utter my mother’s words, and I cringe.  It seems it is a generational thing, and I am having the last laugh when I see my daughter ‘doing an Annie’! 

‘Doing a Margie” just doesn’t refer to interactions with kids and grandkids, it relates to all things in all situations.  It starts with being a little impatient with “the nincompoops” serving at the checkouts who “don’t have a brain in their heads”, to the other drivers on the roads who “drive like Mr Magoo”.  It happens when I make comments watching the news, and I’m not sure they are always politically correct!  Or when I make disparaging comments about the poor quality of TV programs I sit watching, week after endless week, without missing a show (MAFS comes to mind!)  It appears as if I now have to have something to complain about but, as I near sixty, I have finally found the freedom to believe this is ok.  This is a right of passage.  If one has to age then one should be allowed to have some fun, have a grumble or two about the younger generations, and their insensitivity and rudeness, and enjoy looking for the negative in all things modern.  So, I am going to embrace this new sense of being and enjoy ‘doing a Margie’.  Love and miss you Mum xx

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