The mother of all days

I am typing this from the bathtub of our hotel room. No, I am not lounging in a bubble bath with one of those chic metal trays for soap and a book as would be befitting on Mother's Day. Rather, I am sitting on a towel, in a cold, hard, dry enamel tub, which is in desperate need of re-grouting, because I do not want to disturb the spouse and daughter, who are still sleeping. And when I am done writing this post, I will probably wander down the hall, in my Mets shorts and white t-shirt, to the Starbucks and give everyone in the lobby a thrill get everyone breakfast. Because that's the kind of mother I am.

I know: Where's my medal?

But today's post isn't about me (though let's be serious: all of my posts are in some way, shape, or form all about me). It's about all the great (and not-so-great) mothers out there who made us possible. (Dads, you'll get your turn next month.)

So here's to all the moms who get up early and make sure their kids have a good breakfast each morning; get them to their six zillion after-school and weekend activities week in and week out without ever complaining; help them with their homework and to study for tests; provide a shoulder to cry on, and a kind word when they are feeling down; who nurse them back to health when they are sick; get a warm, healthy dinner on the table each and every night; and read to their children or sit with them before they go to bed every night -- and to all the rest of us poor slobs who thank God each night for making it through another day, without having killed one (or more) of their offspring. This blog post is for you.

Wishing all of you a very happy Mother's Day.