Mothers Day, that Sunday in the year when you receive a grubby drawing made in kindergarten of a fat-cheeked stick person with red cheeks and the dedication "to the best mummy in the world" with "mummy" often being spelled with only one "m". And you swell up with pride and wonder if your tiny offspring really has got artistic potential and hope none of the other mothers will think the drawing is meant to be of you.
Or you get a sophisticated bouquet of flowers and a lovely card filled with glowing praise of your child-raising talents. Hmm. Doesn't seem all that long ago when you were laying down the law about staying out too late and threatening curfew to a few sullen individuals grouped around the family dining table.
All the restaurants which have been advertising "Mothers Day Specials" are booked out on the day and happy families gather together to celebrate. As you watch them all assemble in your honour, you can't help remembering all those days when you almost had to use a police escort to get the younger members of the family to the table. How many times did you bellow up the stairs "if you don't come now, I'm going to throw it out!" How quickly time passes! We should savour those kindergarten years.
It is very fitting that in the U.K. and Ireland Mothers Day should be in March when Nature is coming out of its winter sleep and the daffodils and primroses are brightening up the still brown earth in preparation for the coming summer months. It is a month of hope for the future and of fond remembrance of the winter months and Christmas, now seeming so long ago. A symbol of mothers' role everywhere, I like to think.
But regardless of whether your children are tiny or are fully grown with perhaps children of their own, Mothers Day is a special day. A day when mothers everywhere are considered with affection and their little faults and foibles are forgotten. Woman power at its best!