Welcome to my second Feature Friday in which I have the pleasure of reblogging this post which originally appeared on A Quirky Kook last year. Jodie, who writes that blog, asked me if I felt it would fit in with the theme of my new series and after reading it, I jumped at the chance to include it.

When you become a mum, I think it's so easy to get a bit lost in the daily grind of life, in trying not to be "just a mum", and in trying to do the best possible job you can. What this post reminds me is that actually it's the simple things that I do with my children, in the moment and with sincerity, that they will build their memories on. And that knowledge helps me to relax and to just enjoy being with them.

Now over to Jodie ...

Being a mother is a thankless task and I know that because I have a mother and I've never really said thank you to her at all.

I've said thank you for the little things of course, for daily interactions and presents and the unexpected good things that mothers do for you when you least expect it. Of course I have because, well, she brought me up to. Obviously.

But what I haven't thanked her for is making me the person I am. And even though she might roll her eyes and wonder where she went wrong, I think she did a damn fine job to be honest. My mum gave and taught me many things, and not all of them were intentional.

26.12.1963 - Mum and Dad's wedding day

She gave me my love of music. When I was young the little black discs of Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard that she had collected as a teenager were little gems of happiness and to be allowed to play them on the Dansette record player was an honour and a treat. Dancing? She gave me an appreciation and joy for that too. And it wasn't taking me to Janice Reagan's ballet class for the under fours oh no, but the family parties where my mum and dad would do the jive. They used to clear the dance floor, but only because everyone wanted to watch.

It was my mum who gave me my appreciation of writing and my love of books. She taught me to read before I went to school and later had the foresight to work in a library thereby opened up a whole world where every single book I might ever want to read was obtainable and reachable and, shh, you never had to pay a fine.

And she gave me her suede mini-skirt. A genuine sixties patchwork suede mini-skirt that I wore when I was a student in the early eighties and for that, for reasons manifold and best not explained, I owe her and for my love of vintage fashion and *waits for Mother to roll her eyes again* mini-skirts.

She gave me my appreciation of the family that made me and the history we share. She taught me about loyalty and strength. She taught me, probably without noticing, everything there is to know about love. 

She even taught me that it doesn't matter how many times you've been seen swaying down the street singing after a dinner dance OR fallen over in improbable platforms in a Devon car-park after some Scrumpy OR worn a mini-skirt that is LITTLE MORE THAN A BELT, you can still claim the moral high-ground when your own children do similar. 

*Raises eyebrows at Mother*

Anyway, for ALL of that, I thank her. Deeply and very much.

Happy 70th birthday Mum x
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Jodie Hawkins has been blogging at A Quirky Kook for the past two years. She's a work at home mum (freelance journalist and copywriter) and has four children, twin girls aged 17, an 11-year-old girl and a seven-year old boy. Jodie is married to a musician and they all live in chaos, as well as in Wakefield, West Yorkshire. Her specialist subject is drinking wine, and lots of it. She blogs about life, family and family life. Jodie can be found on Twitter @jodiekins22

Today, my dad is 60. Happy birthday daddy!

I'm going to let you into a little secret; I've had a horrible time trying to choose a birthday present for my dad.

I really wanted a meaningful gift (rather than a useless  bit of tat with 60 scrawled over it that would soon be forgotten about whilst simultaneously cluttering up the place) and I only had a small budget with which to find one. It shouldn't have been that hard a task should it? Aargh!

Although I eventually settled on a gift, it's not the ultimate birthday present I was dreaming of for him. But I recently realised that's because what I really wanted to give him isn't a tangible, material object, it's what's in my head and my heart when I think about him.

So dad, if you're reading this; I love you!

When I think back over the years, there are certain memories that jump out at me:

• Burying you in the sand on our holidays in Wales
• Getting the dinghy out whenever we went to the seaside
• Exploring your shop, which seemed like an Aladdin's cave of wonder and mystery to the (much) younger version of me!
• Watching the Tour de France with you
• Mammoth Sunday bike rides
• Hanging on for dear life on the back of your motorbike
• Scrubbing the Sunday roast tins with Jif
• Sliding around in the back of that old Jag you loved (but which made me feel really car-sick)

And while there are lots of memories that make me smile and laugh, there is one in particular that fills me with a very different emotion...

All my life you've been passionate about music and I can't put into words how incredibly proud I am that at "a mature age", you learnt to play the guitar and then threw yourself so wholeheartedly into singing and playing in a band as well as running a local open mic night and organising other music events. You may not do all of those things now but I will forever think of you as my father, the rockstar!

And this is why I struggled to choose a birthday gift for you; because what means something to me isn't a "thing", it's the memories conjured up by the music we've shared and the music to which you've introduced me. And this song here is, randomly, the one that means the most to me:

I'm going to stop now because I've made myself cry! Just, Happy Birthday! You mean the world to me xx