By a mom of 3, a cool aunt, a 9-5 warrior, a side-hustler, and the blogger who accidentally turned her venting space into a whole thing.
The Table That Told My Story
This Mother’s Day, I looked at my gifts and saw my whole life reflected back at me. Every item came from someone who matters. Every piece carried meaning beyond the wrapping. But let me also be real with you. Some of these presents I had to finance myself. Some the girls spoke to my husband about. Azolile and Lulo, my three-year-old, had to be financed by me. The only thing Lulo did without guidance was hugs and kisses. Those were free. Those were pure. Those were all his.
Let me tell you what was on that table.
The Swiss roll. I bought it myself. Because I love that cream Swiss roll from Spar. I promise you can never go wrong with that one. Soft sponge, sweet cream, the kind of simple pleasure that costs almost nothing but feels like everything. Sometimes the best gifts are the ones you give yourself.
The scarf. From church. A reminder of community, of faith, of the hands that pray for me when I am too tired to pray for myself.
The earrings. From Azolile, my lovely niece. Financed by me, but chosen with her heart. The child who lost her mother and found a home with me. Who still draws me with a laptop and a crown. Who thinks I am the coolest person alive. Every time I wear them in the future, I’ll be wearing her love.
The T-shirt. From Iminathi. Folded neat and thoughtful. Because presentation matters. Because she knows her mother appreciates the small details.
The loffies. The boots. From Anako. Practical. Stylish. The kind of gift that says I see you walking through life, and I want your steps to be comfortable.
The energy bar. From Lulo, my three-year-old. Financed by me, delivered with tiny, determined hands. The sweetest, most chaotic gesture. But those hugs and kisses? Those were all him. No guidance. No prompting. Just pure, unfiltered love. I will treasure them forever.
The Ferrero Rocher. From my husband. Gold-wrapped, deliberate, the chocolate that says you are worth the extra rands. Some they spoke to my husband about. He delivered. From the man who holds me up when everything feels like it is falling down.
What These Gifts Mean
I am grateful to be surrounded by such loving people. If I had to pick in the next life, I would pick them over and over again. They make everything so worthwhile.
The Swiss roll I bought myself? That is self-love. The energy bar financed by me but delivered by Lulo? That is motherhood. The hugs and kisses that needed no guidance? That is innocence in its truest form. The Ferrero Rocher from my husband? That is partnership. The earrings from Azolile, funded by me but worn with her love? That is healing. The scarf from church? That is faith. The T-shirt and boots from my children? That is legacy.
Every gift is a chapter. Every giver is a reason I keep going. And every rand I spent to make this day happen? That is the unspoken cost of love.
To Every Mother Reading This:
You do not need expensive gifts to feel seen. You need people who notice. Who remember. Who show up, even imperfectly, even with a Swiss roll from Spar or an energy bar financed by your own pocket.
And those hugs and kisses that cost nothing? Those are the ones that matter most.
Happy Mother’s Day. May your table be full. May your heart be fuller. And may you always find a way to finance the joy.
