I've always tried to make Mothers Day special for you, because you made every other day of the year so special for us. Jack and I always used to make you burnt toast and soggy cereal in bed, or pick you some last minute daffodils (and ruin your flower beds in the process) to make you feel a bit special. Even when you were ill, this didn't change. I baked you pies, I made cakes, I bought you special presents - that bracelet you wore until the end; I still have my one. Mother's Day was always our thing, and I couldn't have imagined it being another way.
Until this year. My senses are heightened to the mass consumer onslaught of advertising, sales and content all centred around how we should spoil our Mums this Sunday. Even at work, I've written blog after blog urging loyal customers to splash £70 on a necklace for their Mother Hen. The pub opposite my flat is offering a Mother's Day special; even Sainsburys is in on the game with strategically placed chocolates interrupting my lunch break dash. It's everywhere, and there's no other way to put it: it's sh*t.
However it did get me thinking (now there's a miracle). Just like Christmas, and exactly like Valentine's Day - why does it all focus on the day? Why should there be this one, clear-cut moment when we're all supposed to shower our Mum in love and presents? Shouldn't we be doing this everyday? Aside from the endless meals, aside from the nappy changes and even aside from the life advice - she did push you out, which y'know was pretty painful and also a pretty big reason to your existence. Be grateful for that every day. You're the only person who knows what her heart sounds like from the inside, after all.

My Mum's funeral roses