Before the day arrives, it's the talk of playgroup: How are you planning on spending Mother's Day? 

On "the big day," emails are thrown back and forth sending "Happy Mother's Day wishes to my favorite moms" and "Hoping you get a chance to enjoy your day!" Texts and tweets with Mother's Day greetings are passed around like hotcakes (yep, "hotcakes"), and it's impossible to ignore the well-wishes on TV, on the computer, literally everywhere you turn. 

The talk of moms at drop-off and pick-up this week was, of course, how each person spent her Mother's Day. And I realized that there's a split, an absolute division, between those moms who were "pampered"—treated to a day of peace and quiet at the spa, enjoying their mani's, pedi's, full-body massages and facials, or just time by themselves—and those who had to do the "pampering." 

Those winning-ticket moms who were treated like queens on their day pay the price when those who pampered others really lay on the guilt: Oh, yeah, my Mother's Day was awesome.  I wolfed down the stale bagel that my kids brought me to eat in bed because I had 10 minutes to shower, pick up the house and make brunch for my parents, in-law's and sisters who came over to my house for the day. Really relaxing. My dream day.

So who does Mother's Day belong to, anyway?

As I drove my three kids the three-and-a-half hours from our home here in the 'burbs of DC to my parents' house in Pennsylvania for the weekend, I recalled a letter my mom sent to me when I was a senior in college. I was right smack dab in the middle of my student teaching semester, trying desperately to earn respect from high school juniors and seniors while making sense of Shakespeare, Chaucer and English grammar. Between juggling my waitressing shifts in the evenings, managing the planning and grading for my students, and trying to be a decent student myself, my life was insane.

After the haze of Mother's Day passed that year, the note arrived from my mom. She told me how hard it was for her to not have had me home for Mother's Day that year, how much it hurt to have me stay at school instead of driving the 90 minutes home, even for the day. It was the first time in 20 years she didn't see me on Mother's Day, and although she knew I was busy, a card, a note—something—might have made it easier and would have let her know I was thinking about her.

I remember thinking how silly she sounded. I couldn't see past my own frustration or understand why my mom would burden my busy life when I had so much on my plate at the time. I was angry—really angry. I'm not positive about how the situation leveled out. I'm betting I apologized in haste and probably wrote a letter or called or maybe I even made the trip home the following weekend. Whatever I did wasn't enough, though. My mom is incredible—completely awesome—and she certainly deserved more than what I gave her that year—no matter how busy I thought I was.

I may not be sure as to how I righted things with my mom, but at this point in my life, I am sure of one thing: I will want my own kids close to me on Mother's Day, especially when they're out of the house and on their own. 

I'll want them to take a timeout for me on my day, when they're grown and when I won't be able to see them as much as I'd want to. I'll want them to just hang out with me, sharing memories, talking about their lives, their friends, their plans. I'll want to watch them, hug them, remember them, be in awe of the people they've become. I'll want to talk them through issues in their lives, laugh and joke with them, make dinner with them. I'll just want to sit with them because I know if they're not close by—if I don't see them enough—I'll miss them so terribly.

I'm glad my mom took the time to write that note to me so many years ago. Because as much as I may have brushed it off back then, I could ugly cry now at how I must have made my mom feel on that Mother's Day 13 years ago, when she missed her own mom and she just wanted to wrap her arms around her own kids on her day.

I actually spent last Mother's Day driving—solo—with my three kids from Pennsylvania and back here to the nation's capital. With the windows of our mini-van down, music blasting, and singing our hearts out to the Dixie Chicks, I reconciled my relationship with Mother's Day.

I came to the decision that while our kids are young, while motherhood is so labor-intensive and so exhausting, it's natural for us to yearn for a day of peace, pampering, and quiet—and we all deserve it. But I also realized more clearly the importance of honoring the mothers in our lives in whatever ways we can. Our moms deserve to know how much we appreciate them and all they do for us, and we should do what we can to spend time with them on their day. Most likely, they'll just want to see us and spend time with us—especially if they don't get to as much as they'd like.

So from here on out, I'll make a more concerted effort to do just that.

And I'll schedule my spa day for the weekend after Mother's Day.