Mother's Day. Really?

Mother's Day has come and gone. I called my mother, wished her a happy day, she cried, said I love you.
I ended the conversation with talk to you later; bye.

We do not have that classic mother/daughter relationship; never have.
Does it bother me? Sure.
Will it change? No.

For so many years my Dad received the Happy Mother's Day recognition. The homemade cards, cakes, and balloons. He picked up her slack because someone needed to. Those big manly hands had such a gentle touch. He was the boo boo kisser and the best person to put band aids on. He was perfect at using a curling iron to put those little curls in my hair for special occasions. Never a burn. (I can't even do that)
He was the greatest bedtime story teller. Stories never came from a book; they were from deep within his heart. I only wish I could tell my own son those amazing stories; instead I'm stuck with books.
From teaching me to drive, putting makeup on (who knew), to teaching me how to shoot a gun, pitch a tent, paddle a canoe and even braiding my Barbie's hair, he was. the. man.

Happy Mother's Day!