No Cards, No Drama-Just Us!

It’s Mother’s Day, and true to form, my daughter didn’t wake up with a hand-made card, a Pinterest-inspired breakfast tray, or a surprise plan to make me cry happy tears. In fact, she didn’t even remember until I (casually) put a WhatsApp status.

And then I receive a wish through the same medium!

For a moment, just a moment, I paused. Should I feel something? A twinge of disappointment, maybe? A silent sigh that I wasn’t being celebrated in an Instagrammable way?

Because social media makes it look like a big deal. Mother’s Day should come with speeches, bouquets, and a small orchestra. And mine came with an early morning work travel, failed attempts to wake up sleepyhead (lest she feels bad about not saying goodbye), and a reminder to get stuff from one of the brands she uses.

But then again, my days are also laced with:

• A morning laugh about how I can’t find any of my glasses.
• A double-check on whether my outfit “matched my vibe.”
• An unsolicited hug or slurpy kiss while I am staring too hard at my laptop.

There were no banners. But there was love. In her way, in our way.

We live in a world where days have been boxed into hashtags and filtered moments. Where we feel compelled to perform our feelings on cue. But love, real love, doesn’t always follow a calendar. It spills quietly into everyday moments, the ones that don’t trend.

My daughter doesn’t write me long, dramatic messages (I sometimes do!!!). But she tells me the truth when my top looks weird. She calls me “bruh” and then melts into me when she’s tired. She argues, debates, and disagrees, not out of defiance, but because I taught her that her voice matters. She doesn’t fuss. And she doesn’t fake.

Does that make me a lesser mother? Absolutely not. If anything, it reminds me that I’ve raised someone who shows love without waiting for a date to tell her when and how.

And does it make her a lesser daughter? Not in the slightest. It makes her authentic. It makes her real. It makes her someone who values connection over performance.

Would a card have been nice? Sure.

Would a surprise cupcake have made me smile? Of course.

But would it change the bond we’ve built over shared inside jokes, silent understanding, and fierce independence? Not a bit.

So today, I choose not to measure motherhood in Instagram captions or ceramic mugs. I choose to measure it in the way her voice softens when she says “Mumma” at the end of a hard day.

In the way she still asks me to sit with her at bedtime.

In the way we roll our eyes together at the world, and sometimes at each other.

No card. No drama. Just us.

And honestly? That’s more than enough.