I went out for lunch with my mother-in-law last week at the V&A. I only mention the last bit as we had been to see the Dior exhibition which is stunning if you are lucky enough to get a ticket. Anyway, for an hour or so, we became ladies who lunch in posh places and catch up over a glass of wine.
It was over the decadent Pinot that Jenny posed a question to me, “why do you call you blog the widow plus woofers?”. Now I have to admit, the answer seemed rather obvious to me but I replied that I felt it was a catchy title. “I meant why do you call yourself a widow? I don’t label myself with that word, I’m just me” she countered, “and it reminds me of a spider”. I nearly snorted my wine. However, once I had rebalanced my breathing and stifled the giggle, I pondered over her comment as the conversation turned to less provocative conversation. Why do define ourselves with such a dreadful tag? And will Jenny always be my mother-in-law or does that change now I’m theoretically not actually married to her son anymore?
Let’s face it, there’s no way you can inject any happiness into the word widow. I mean, you can have a happy marriage or an amicable divorce but losing a life partner is not a chosen path. Unless you’re a murderous spider. Even translated into other languages it sounds depressing; ‘veuve’ in French, ‘vedova’ in Italian, ‘viuda’ in Spanish. Like I said, it’s not a word we choose to label ourselves with. But is Jenny right? Should we just be defined as ‘me’ and not the product of a life changing event?
My son came home after a month or so away and Yogi Bear went nuts. I could have got a million hits on social media if I had recorded the reunion but my son hates cameras so the happy canine conga with the rest of the pack bouncing along remains private. And I joined in the happy dance too, my boy is home. Yup, I can be mum for a while again. He came well-equipped with dirty laundry, a bottomless appetite and lots of hugs. Being Mum is certainly a word I love to be defined by because I’m a much better me when he’s got his feet up on the sofa surrounded by furries even if there’s only a corner left for the lady of the house/widow/dog owner/blonde/middle aged/mother/female/…..insert label….
“a dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance and to turn around three times before lying down” (Robert Benchley)
Widow plus woofs 