My mother-in-law sent me a list of what constitutes the perfect Mother’s Day. It was from a freebie newspaper she found at a Ben Franklin store. Maybe I could use it for my column, she said. The list got me thinking: Had I done any of these things for my own mother?
     For sure, I served her breakfast in bed. Dad would have cooked it, though. His specialty was blueberry pancakes. He would have written "Mom" on the griddle with the batter. My siblings and I would have placed a cup of strong coffee on the tray. Along with fried eggs, the yolk nice and hard the way Mom liked it, and slices of crunchy bacon.
     Being oldest, I would have been the one to carry the tray up the long flight of stairs. Mom, who couldn’t have slept through the racket emanating from the kitchen, did a good job feigning surprise.
     Also on the perfect Mother’s Day list is jewelry. We kids had it easy back then. With a drugstore and five-and-dime only blocks away, we could ride our bikes to shop. Foshay Drug had a long glass case filled with necklaces and bracelets. Some even had glittery rhinestones. If we were short on funds, we headed for the dime store where the gems were less fancy, but fit our budget.
     Whatever we purchased, Mom wore proudly. Especially, the sterling silver charm bracelet Dad helped us buy one year. Five shiny charms dangled from the bracelet—silhouettes of four girls’ heads and one boy’s—each with a birth date engraved on one side.
     I know we bought perfume. Mom’s favorites were Chanel no.5 and My Sin, but drug store fragrances had to do until we were old enough to take the bus downtown to Dayton’s where the sales clerk gift wrapped our purchase in fancy paper.
     Had I ever told her, "Mom, you look so nice," as the list advises? I hope so, because she always did. Tailored and classy are the words that come to mind when I think of my mother. She was a shopper who didn’t spend a lot, but always looked good. Everything was an outfit. Every outfit had its own pair of shoes. Mom’s last years were spent in Brainerd where she was on a first name basis with the salespeople of Herberger’s department store. My stepfather sat patiently on a bench just inside the front door while Mom scouted bargains. "You’ll never guess what I found on sale," she often said.
     Also on the perfect Mother’s day list is, "A surprise visit from out of town kids." That wouldn’t have worked with Mom. An impromptu visit would have been out of the question because Mom was always on the go. If she was home, she would have been entertaining Phyllis and Doug, who lived in her building. I learned not to surprise Mom with a telephone call on Sunday evenings. That was when she and the neighbors dined together and watched their favorite television shows.
     The final suggestion on the list is "Love, love, love!" I did that, telling Mom I loved her over and over. But I can’t forget the time I, a bratty teenager, had yelled, "I hate you," at her in anger. The words haunt me still.