Mothers

You have to love mothers (intended in the genuine, affectionate sense). Today I got a parcel in the mail from my Mum. It's a very large parcel. The mail deliverer here at work (I get stuff sent here because getting to the local post office to collect parcels during office hours is a big nuisance) balanced it on top of my in-tray and it looked quite ridiculous.

In this large parcel is a blanket.

Now I don't need my Mum to send me blankets because I am down here freezing to death in the winter. With my very own money I bought myself an 85% goose down doona a couple of years ago, and I have been toasting ever since. The long story behind this blanket is that last year Mum came down here to stay, and before she did I bought this self-inflating foam camp mattress for myself (and any other future guests) to sleep on on the floor, and I bought the double size for good measure (and because it was on sale!). It's a bit narrower than an ordinary double bed, and would be some kind of squashy business for two people, but for one its nicer than sleeping on the floor with your arms and legs hanging off the edges of some minimal piece of foam. Then I made do with spare sheets and blankets and sleeping bags etc and I thought it was fine.

But my Mum decided that I needed dedicated double-size stuff. So I actually got this blanket for Christmas, but couldn't lug it back in my luggage because that was already filled up with a set of double sheets, a double mattress protector (Mum used to have a spare double bed and doesn't anymore so she had these and was keen for me to have them - plus she has this self-confessed thing about manchester - you can't keep her out of manchester shops and when she was down here she went through my linen cupboard at least twice, just looking and folding stuff), other Christmas presents and of course that ESV study bible.

So this week she posted it. Now all I have to do is haul this enormous parcel home.