My regrettable performance last Mother’s Day led me to confess to Karen and readers of my column that my children have the responsibility to honor their mother. She recalled hearing that sentiment years ago and it still hurt. I committed to honor her and fumbled into discovering that imperfections are one reason Mother’s Day is important.

    Thursday I purchased a bouquet of flowers. Flowers from Thursday’s supplies are fresher than Saturday’s remnants.

    I purchased a jacket sprinkled with spring flowers from the clothing store where past presents have brought her compliments. At Christmas I’d bought her a bracelet from a jeweler’s wife, so after asking her husband to check his records, I purchased matching earrings.

    By Friday morning the jacket sat on the floor by the living room fireplace and the earrings and cards graced the mantle. She noticed.  Before we left to meet our children Saturday night in Seattle, she sat in her lazy-boy with cards and presents in her lap. She smiled. “This feels different. Do you remember last year?”

    That wounded me, but she enjoyed the difference. The flowers were the prettiest bouquet I’d ever bought. She loved the jacket. It was too small, but I exchanged it for the right size before we left town.

     I fumbled the earrings gift. She reminded me that we returned the bracelet because it was similar to one I’d bought years before. She had exchanged it for a matching set of earrings she frequently wore, and almost identical to those now in her lap. I’m hoping she can exchange them for something. I’ve never bought her ankle bracelets.  

    In Seattle we celebrated Mother’s Day with our two daughters. Our oldest is a mother, the youngest not, perhaps partly because of uneasy Mother’s Days I’d created. 

    Our daughter-mother takes command of her Mother’s Days. Last year she announced her Mother’s Day wish was hiking with her three boys. They agreed it was a blast. This year she invited us to have brunch at her house.

    We watched her open presents, including a gift from their now single father. One of the 12-year-olds reminded his brothers that Papa said it was from all of them. They clustered around her to see what it was. That evening she called from the lakeshore as she and her boys watched the setting sun. She had a good Mother’s Day.

    Karen was upset that the card she’d mailed her early in the week never arrived. And the egg casserole she’d baked didn’t go over well because our daughter didn’t mention that the boys don’t eat eggs.

    Both mothers had a good day despite the glitches. Glitches are a sensitive issue with mothers according to Stephanie Simon in the Wall Street Journal. She reviewed a number of mothers embarrassed by insights on imperfection from their children.  Hallmark avoids the problem. Of the 1600 cards available this year, not one has a child poking fun at an imperfect mom.

    Maybe imperfections linger unspoken as we honor mothers. What we say is I honor you for giving me your best. Unsaid is, ‘Sure you’re not perfect, which I deeply understand because you birthed me and I’m far from perfect. But it doesn’t matter. Know that I honor you in the best way I know how.’

    If it’s real, she’ll feel good, regardless of the glitches. I have proof. Monday morning Karen said, “Oh yes, I had a very good day.“