Delivering a Momily

"Your kid wants to know what you want for Mother's Day," Mr. Ginley said last Thursday.

"I'm easy to buy for," I say breezily.

That's when I get "the look."

In her happy place.

"You are the most difficult person ever to buy for," he informs me. "You never want anything, and you always say you'll be happy with whatever you get."

All of this is true. It's also true that the one thing I always ask for -- to sit across the table and share breakfast with my son -- isn't going to happen this year. Instead, in the immortal words of Ohio Bell Telephone, I will "reach out and touch someone" albeit via Skype. Which, I'm sorry, just isn't the same. But it's the safe and responsible thing to do.

Thinking back on what we got our mom for Mother's Day, there was always a card. In our younger days, they were handmade. Later on, we bought funny or sappy Hallmark or American Greetings cards. And maybe a little chocolate for Mom (giving us an excuse to treat ourselves, too. After all, we were the reason she celebrated Mother's Day.)

My mom has been gone for eight years now, and I still think about her all the time. I converted a VHS tape of her and my dad at our son's first birthday party, and watching it really gave me a jolt. Captured forever are images of my mom -- her voice, her laughter -- that continue to live in my heart. That's where she's alive and well -- and gently nudging me when I get "too big for my britches."

For all of my friends who are moms, my wish tomorrow is for a quiet day, with someone else doing the cooking, and a chat with your offspring, whether you be in the same room, across town or across the country. For those of you with the four-legged variety of children, I hope they show their love and appreciation for all you've done for them. (Yes, kitty cats, even you can break out a lap sit and a purr for Mother's Day.)

And please, oh, please, let's not have snow tomorrow.

Mom wouldn't like it snowing on her garden.