POB (partner of blogger) and I don’t exchange mother’s day cards, although TLP (our son, the little prince) must make two — one for each of us.

I still have a vague feeling that I have forgotten something on Mother’s Day, as if I should be sending a card to someone.

But, when we gathered for the obligatory lunch, I went through the mental catalogue:

• Dad’s mother: May 1973;
• Mom’s mother: June 1988;
• Mom: January 2003; and
• POB’s mother: April 2006.

Nope, no one to whom to send a mother’s day card.  Anyway, the postage for four cards from here to Heaven would probably break the bank.

Now, POB and I are the honorees.  We get the handmade cards that we will treasure for a lifetime even if the ungluing pink glitter is all over the house.

Even my brother called to wish us a happy mother’s day.  He must have that same sense of forgetting to do something — like sending a card to Mom.

I know SOB (sister of blogger) is having a good cry going through the family pictures in her photo album which we reverentially call “The Shrine”.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Mom, it is still your day. Always will be.

I love you.