Mother’s Day looks different depending on what stage of motherhood you’re in.

So first — happy Mother’s Day to all the moms, stepmoms, aunts, mum mums, soon-to-be moms, dog moms, adoptive moms, foster moms, and want-to-be moms out there. I hope you were properly praised and adored.

This Mother’s Day was different for me because I wasn’t with my mom. In recent years, she’s usually come to visit, but it just wasn’t in the cards this year. And honestly, between baseball and softball schedules, all I really wanted was a quiet day.

And that’s exactly what I got.

Honestly, I could probably write an entire separate post about what moms really want for Mother’s Day.

Spoiler alert: it’s not flowers and brunch reservations.

It’s this:

To be left ALONE.
To not be needed.
To not have to DO or BE anything for anyone else for a few hours.

I’ve often joked that someday, when I’m no longer spending Mother’s Day celebrating my own mom, I plan to spend the day at a spa while my family cooks me dinner and cleans the kitchen afterward.

That’s the dream.

Also, anything homemade is automatically better than bought. Unless it’s something I specifically asked for and helped you purchase ahead of time — in which case I will still act completely surprised.

My daughter made me gifts, which I loved.
And my son bought me a new dishwasher-safe ice cream scoop.

Honestly? Life-changing.

This year, I didn’t get the spa. But I did get:

• To wash the patio furniture (willingly, because it took 20 minutes and then I got to sit outside and enjoy the beautiful weather).
• To walk to the ice cream parlor to see my niece managing the counter and get ice cream from her.
• To have a baseball game rained out — but only after I had already made my own dinner and eaten at 4:30 p.m. like a retiree.

Honestly, it was a pretty great day.

But the best part?

I almost gave my son a haircut. With a baseball.

While I was cleaning the patio furniture, my son was throwing live batting practice to my daughter. She wanted to help me clean a few chairs, so I casually picked up the bat.

My son looked genuinely confused.

I said, “Why not?”

First pitch?

Line drive straight back at him. Inches from the side of his left ear.

He dropped to the ground completely shell-shocked.

I said, “Maybe you should wear a batting helmet.”

Second pitch?

Pop fly to the back yard.
Blooper into the neighbor’s yard.
Grounder smoked up the hill.

The kid was stunned.

And honestly, I needed that.

Sometimes you have to remind your children that before you were their mother, you were an actual person. A person with skills. Athletic ability. Competitive spirit.

He may now be only one inch shorter than me, but on Mother’s Day, I had to remind him:

Mom still has it.