I've never celebrated Mother's day with my mother. It's never been an option, really. When I was a Jehovah's Witness, we didn't celebrate any holidays, of course, unless you count marking wedding anniversaries. In some cases, it was because of the holiday's religious ties to other traditions (Christmas, birthdays, Easter, Halloween); in others, it was because of their ties to nationalistic entities (Independence Day, Thanksgiving, Veteran's Day, etc.) or to unrelenting debauchery (New Years, Mardi Gras). Guess which ones I favor most of all these days.
But for some, most notably the ones at times disparagingly referred to as the Hallmark holidays, there was really no explanation given as to why we shouldn't celebrate them--they just fell into this nebulous category of "worldly things we don't do." So we never did them.
And while I've since left the church well behind, my parents have not, and to say that my mother would look upon a phone call that begins "Happy Mother's Day" with disdain is to put it mildly. Of course, since my last letter to her returned the latest Witness literature she'd sent me, it may well be the case that she would look on any phone call as unwelcome.
So that means that for the last five years, Mother's day has been with Amy's mom, whether we've been here or distant. And before that, well, it just didn't really happen, except for one time, about 6 years ago. It was the first year Monkey lived with me instead of her mom (and before she was Monkey, for that matter), and she woke me up on Mother's Day with breakfast in bed. I was Mom that year, and I presume that she did the same for her mother on Father's Day.
Monkey spent part of this Mother's Day on the driving range--I got her a cheap set of clubs from craigslist for $20 to see if she'd like the game, and so far so good. She'll be with her mom for Father's Day again this year. I wonder what they'll do, if anything, that day.