Here's the thing about Mother's Day. When you've got kids, every day is your day. Granted, it's not always the red roses and chocolatey type, but trust me, it is your day. Which is why I remain mystified as to why we are so attracted by the card-and-bouquet concept that newspapers and Web sites have been trying to hard-sell.

I can imagine what this would mean to my mother's generation or, for that matter, my grandmother's generation. What could a card possibly say to a woman whose entire existence revolved around feeding a table of hungry brown eyes? Not to mention the cleaning and clearing after every event, be it a play session with a toy tea set or a particularly messy stroll in the garden.

I can see her opening the card. Her eyes lighting up when she sees that familiar writing scrawled across that crisp blank surface. What would it say? Thank you. I love you. You mean the world to me. Well-meaning words, heartfelt words, true. But then, she would think about that pot boiling on the stove, give the little one a hug and start stirring again. All her love and care would flow from the chicken soup ladled into that bowl. One sip was enough to convey all the warmth in the universe. A dash of a smile, peppered with a gentle pat on the back and a whole lot of sizzling hot broth, meant more to both mother and daughter than a thousand cards, or a gift-wrapped statuette, or a clever classified.

In my life, on most days, my five-year-old drives me completely crazy. Up and down, in and out, talk, talk, talk. Followed by questions, questions and more questions. Why did you? Why can't I? Can I? But you said... Give me! I want... I want... I want! On most days, I find myself counting to 10, not as a threat to her, but to calm and collect myself.

The experts say, breathe deeply, talk softly, explain, explain, explain. On occasion, I have been known to close my eyes to drown out her plaintive cries for "one more chocolate". At other times, I have refused "to read" because my throat hurts from all that vocal exercise. Let's just say that life is like being on a treadmill, without the chance of you getting off. It's go, go, go. One minute you are brushing her hair, the next minute you are car-pooling across the city and the third minute you are gently assuring her that a fall (even though you've warned her a thousand times not to jump out like that!) has not broken her leg.

Still, as all parents will confirm, it's not a role I would trade for anything or anyone. Not even for a day. Not even for a million dollars. Recently, when she learned to cycle, the joy she felt was nothing compared to the pride shinning in my eyes. The other day, she showed me how many words she can read from Kitty and Rover.

But it's not only about her accomplishments. It's about love, completely unconditional. It's about sharing, even if it is the last piece of that beloved brownie. It's about negotiation, even if it goes as far as to decide which tape we will hear in the car today. And it's about trust. Just knowing that mamma is always there.

But when someone allocates just one day, May 12, as a day to celebrate motherhood, I want to say it's okay to appreciate, but the only flowers I want are from my husband. From my kid I want a hug and a kiss. And let me tell you a secret. They are free, they cost nothing and I get them every day.

Shernaz Vasunia has to stop here; her five-year-old is impatiently waiting for another session with Kitty and Rover.

Illustration: Uttam Ghosh

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