My Mother used to say, “Mother’s are a sorry lot.” That’s a multi-layered tru-ism. She was an extraordinary person, one of the big loves of my life. And my son, too, of course. He asked me what I wanted for Mother’s Day. “You, healthy,” as is my usual reply. When he was fighting for his life with lymphoma 20 years ago I couldn’t even think about not being a mom.

But the truth is that I am not really interested in Mother’s Day. I celebrate every day as if it were a holiday. Isn’t it? I guess you could say I just don’t get the holiday thing. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It all seems a bit contrived to me, thank you, hustle culture.

I have an almost gleeful sense of accomplishment when I can manage to spend any culturally-assigned holiday in an ordinary way. The more hours of ordinary-ness I can accrue, the better. Hence, people accuse me of being a party-pooper, a sad sack. I’m not. I just love ordinary life; it’s enough for me. Big dramatic gestures and contrived efforts make me nervous. Let’s lose this habit of making our days something more than they need to be. No more big deals, unless they organically happen that way. Peace doesn’t require peaks and valleys. Calm down people.

My son, a fabulous cook, asked me what I want to eat for Mother’s Day. A big salad, same as every day. Do? Take a nap. I may be boring, but I’m surprisingly okay with that. Let’s celebrate being human, quietly – and a Happy Mother’s Day, whatever that means to you.