Here’s to all the women who are mothers but didn’t get celebrated (or not to their satisfaction).  Here’s to those who mother other people’s children. Here’s to bereft mothers. Here’s to those who want to be mothers but are not. Here’s to cat mothers and dog mothers. Here’s to all those of whatever gender who follow the Great Mothering principle of the world.

The crab apple blossoms made a fuchsia display of themselves next to the more demure apple blossoms this weekend in our town. Down by the river, the unselfconscious swans swam right to my feet.

Once again Georgia loaned me her family, although I was chastised that, in fact, it was always my family and of course was and is. As it turned out all the men had to be elsewhere with other mothers or working and so we were seven women and a six month old baby girl at the round brunch table, one of us, very much a mother-in-training at 11. There was an almost-teenaged boy hiding out somewhere and two younger girls, who had written loving tributes to “the best mother in the world”. She needs that positive reinforcement. She is the only mother doing baby-duty.

One of the absent men had precooked most of brunch and a young aunt grilled the French toast. We had champagne.

Happy Mother’s Day!