BoomerGirl Diary

Mother's Day was 100 years old this year. It will be two years before Father's Day celebrates a centennial.

Which isn't to say mothers are more important than fathers because, obviously, each of us has both. Whether we choose to celebrate them or not. (Which, of course, is another story.)

But it occurred to me, this Mother's Day, that the event is really for mothers with children still at home.

Let me modify that: Mother's Day is an event for women whose children are still underage. Particularly children who make large cards out of construction paper, glue and sticky stuff.

When they get to an age of simply buying a card, the holiday starts to lose its meaning for everyone involved. It becomes a ritual that often interferes with their own plans.

"From the mid-20s to mid-40s, our children are busy with their own lives," says Jane Adams, the Seattle-based psychologist who specializes in issues of post-parenthood.

She tells me boomers are closer to their kids than previous generations – closer emotionally, perhaps. And we want more intimacy from our grown kids, more friendships, if you will.

At any rate, she refuses to get upset when her kids – a son and a daughter – forget Mother's Day.

"I think once in my life, my kids brought me breakfast in bed," she says.

"Now they call. My son said, `Can I take you out to dinner some time later this week? I'm busy on Sunday.' And I said, `Sure, but they better remember my birthday.'"

Mother's Day – and Father's Day – are really holidays for the "nuclear family," says Adams, author of "I'm Still Your Mother: How to Get Along with Your Grown-Up Children for the Rest of Your Life." (2007).

Not that I had an "empty" Mother's Day. Actually, I had a delightful time.

My son called from New Hampshire. My daughter-in-law in Hawaii sent me a silly card about feisty mothers.

And my grandson, Mark, and I shared a secret. He was spending Saturday with me and we were going to make breakfast for his mother.

So he broke up the bread for the bottom of the strata pan and then went off to play with some Narnia toy.

The next morning, I baked the strata, woke him up and we delivered it to his mom.

"This is the secret!" he shouted. "I made your breakfast."

He puffed his chest and told his sister she could have one piece.

Later, at the table, my daughter tried to explain to kids that I was her mother. Which they kind of get but mostly want to slot me as "Grandma" because it's too difficult to clutter their little minds with all this relationship stuff.

But I think they will always associate Mother's Day with breakfast. Or brunch when they grow up. That is, brunch in an expensive restaurant replete with flowers, music and something more epicurean than broken bread, chopped ham, shredded cheddar, eggs and milk.

Still, we're talking about sitting around a table, a familial thanksgiving if you will.

Father's Day, on the other hand, is celebrated with gifts of electronics and tools, according to Wikipedia, the Web-based purveyor of knowledge trivia.

Since 1978, retailers have tried to tout the first Sunday after Labor Day as Grandparents' Day. I must confess that doesn't do too much for me.

As Adams says, the greatest gift your children can give you is the pleasure, pride and delight in being a post-parent. And all it costs the kids is a little time and attention. Grandchildren are a bonus.