An Age Old Question

Strangely, as I look at the blog and the statistics that come with it, I find that this is the one hundredth post that I've written.  I would guess that those who post things every day on their blog, or who are perpetually infatuated with posting something on Facebook would say, 'whoopee for you' but I feel strangely in the mood for reminiscence - not just over my life; but over the blog.  I've posted about the Dukes of Hazard, a bull in a China Shop, a fishing trip and many more things and each one has certain feelings attached to it.  But feelings seems to only go so far as you can hold on to them: they never seem to last.  Like holding your hands underneath a waterfall, you can only grasp the water for an instant before it is gone.

So, apropos to the Mother's Day celebration, which strangely enough has to actually have attention called to it by giving it a 'day', I thought I attempt to answer one of the great mysteries of the world.  Why do the English (and many of their commonwealth nations) call their mother's 'mum,' or incredibly, 'mummy?'  The first part of the word is 'mum' which in turn means silent or unwilling to talk - which is not always the case...

A few weeks ago our family decided to watch one of the movies in the series The Mummy.  The series is built on the wide shoulders of Brendan Fraser who many women find mildly friendly to the eyes.  The real star of the movie is, though, the man who plays the Mummy, Arnold Vosloo.  That's a really scary name, isn't it?  Anyway, Vosloo's character finds himself mummified alive and when he is raised to life he can transform himself into many different things - an intense desert storm, stinging with heat; a torrent of water; an ailurophobe (one who has an irrational fear of cats).  Mr. Vosloo is so multidimentional that he can be in two different places at once.

Kind of like mothers.  Maybe this is why English mother's are called mummies?  Even when they are seemingly wrapped in details of daily life, trying to gather everything that they need to keep life going for the family, they still seem to be able to see everything before it occurs.  That's why 'mummies' always say, "I knew that would happen."  In common speak, "I told you so." 

Infuriating it is, at times, that mothers always seem to be right.  Father knows best?  Rubbish.  Mummy only lets father get his way so she can say "I told you so."  There are few things more pleasing in life for mummies than to tell their husbands that they have strayed a little off course and are now suffering for their decisions. 

Mummy's also have the ability to bring life out of death.  Not just gardening, either.  Mother's seem to resurrect relationships that have crumbled; they still reach out in the midst of a the sword stroke between parent and child - they are always the first to extend the hand.  They have limitless places in their hearts for their children even when those children break out of their childhood to become adults often capsizing the family ship in the process.  But mummies throw the life ring overboard, and if that fails, they send the life raft, enter it themselves and row out to the drowning child sacrificing life and limb for the one who struggles.  That's a Mum.

Why call them mother's?  Well, I guess it comes down to spelling.  The word is 'MOther' not 'MUther' but nobody really pays attention to spelling nowadays.  So, I guess that MOm is about being Mo - more than a woman - Wonderwoman, I guess.  Almost thirty years ago, the television show occurred that rocked the airways and brought serious drama to seven o'clock hour on Friday nights .  Lynda (yes, that's spelled correctly) Carter brought her character, Diana Prince, to our eyes, dressed skimpily in a faux tube top, the tiniest of shorts, gold crown and red knee high boots.  As accessories she sported a nice set of golden wristbands.  She too was friendly to the eyes.

When I was growing up, my mom was similar to Wonderwoman apart from the getup.  I think my mother would probably die from embarrassment if asked to wear Diana Prince's shorts and the crown?  Not likely.  My mother has shied from the spotlight all of her life, but what she does hold in common with Wonderwoman is a magic lasso and an invisible jet.  It's no joke that my mother (and probably all mothers out there) can tell at a moments notice when their children are lying to them.  They slowly wind up the golden cord keeping one eye on the children:  Who tracked the dog poo onto the carpet?  Was it you, Reid? and she'd slowly circle the lasso of truth around my shoulders - no escape.  An invisible jet, you ask?  My Mom could arrive unannounced, anywhere in the house, surreptitiously casting an upraised eyebrow on the current state of the bedroom, or find towels on the floor of the bathroom because she was silent as an owl on Halloween.  My mother also seemed to have those Wonderwoman bracelets.  You know, the ones that can deflect bullets and stuff.  I don't know if my mother really let us see that she was down:  sure there were times when she struggled, especially as she battled through cancer, fighting the battle and defeating the enemy - but she didn't really let us know.  She was always hopeful, always faithful, always pleasant even in the midst of adversity.

She was Mo.  Wonderwoman.

She still is. 

Last night Christine and I were asked to perform for Relay for Life which is a fundraising event to make headway in the fight against cancer.  As we climbed the stage (which was the back end of an open semi trailer - it is the country after all) our eyes were pointed towards the grandstand where the event coordinators had strung a group of lights that were supposed to spell Hope but because the bottom part of the 'P' was out it spelled 'Hooe'.  Hooey.  That's what most people think of hope - it's just a few burnt out lights from Hooey.  When the going gets tough, hope takes the getaway train.  But mother's thrive on hope.  Their hopes and dreams are surrounded by a halo of faith that their children will take what they've learned from their parents and implement it in their lives to become the future of goodness in a world sorely lacking in hope.

The Bible is threaded with faithful mums and moms; I can't think of a bad one in the midst.  There are a few fathers that leave a little to be desired.  Rachel, Naomi, Sarah, Rebekah, Hannah, and, of course, Mary.  Any woman described as a mother has certain characteristics of giving, sacrifice, hope and faithfulness.  If only we would read the scriptural witness and find in it the beauty of the mother I think we would again find ourselves in great wonder at the women of faith.

So, is it 'mum' or 'mom?' 

Who cares.  They are both wonderful.