I remember several years ago, a television commercial for a large chain hardware store was spruiking the idea that a gift card (or gift) from their store would make the ideal Mother’s Day present for Mum. The company in question even had gift cards created specifically for the occasion with roses printed on them – because, well, all mums love roses, me included I must say.
Outraged, insulted even, I was at a loss to comprehend how the managers and marketers of Bunnings Warehouse (in my opinion just an overgrown man cave accessory store) would think that I, a mother of three beautiful little girls, would want such a token of love and appreciation for being a mother.
“The perfect gift for Mother’s Day” the campaign said, but surely this was just a ploy to provide mothers with useless gift cards. With images in my head of Homer’s “gift” to Marge on her birthday, I was steadfast in my belief that this type of gift would ultimately result in the ‘the man of the house’ becoming the beneficiary.
I saw Dean going on a spending spree and restocking his treasured chest of tools and toys as the only possible result of receiving such a gift.
I held my spine rigid spine, and my upper lip stiff, “DO NOT.” I said to my girls. “DO NOT, under any circumstances, ever get me a gift card from Bunnings for Mother’s Day! EVER!”
I said it every year. I said it often enough, long enough and loud enough, and they got the message. Not once did I receive a gift card from Bunnings.
No, I received other gifts, treasured breakfasts in bed and hand-picked trinkets from the stall at school and, as the girls got older, (cut) flowers and chocolates, quiet moments over high-teas and lunches in quirky restaurants after hours of shopping madness. (I’m sure there are many more gifts my daughters will remind me of after they read this.) But each gift was appropriate, from the heart, eaten, used, loved, and the recollection of every one tucked away in my memory for safe keeping.
All those years, I refused to believe that anything from Bunnings could, or would, made a suitable gift.
My, my! How the mighty have fallen.
Three days ago when Dean suggested we go down to Bunnings so I could select a few pots and plants for a Mother’s Day gift, I could hardly contain my excitement. Like a kid given free rein in a candy store, I was all over the place – “Do I get this one?” “What about that one?” “This one’s nice.” “Oh, look at that!”
Finally, after Dean’s patience almost manifested into a Beelzebub ready to smite me down for subjecting him to such out of control frenzied shopping indecision, I settled on a few pots that could be attached to the fence, a couple of (little) ferns, and a pot of pansies.
I’m so sorry Bunnings, I’ve had a change of heart. I love the gift my husband gave me and will never again tell my daughters that a Bunnings gift card is a thoughtless gift.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the ‘mums’ reading this. I hope your special day was nothing short of wonderful. Mine was.