As Mother’s Day approaches, I would like to renew the promises I have made to my children. Feel free to borrow, add and delete as you see fit and, above all, enjoy a Mother’s Day that fulfills your every fantasy.

My dear children, as the lights of my life I promise I will always love you. Even when carrying you all in utero eventually renders my bladder marginally useless and I spend the rest of my life in fear of sudden laughter, coughing and any song that might lead to jumping up and down on a dance floor.

I love you when I find you via a trail of powdered sugar from the pantry to you, covered in white dust from your head to your rain boots. I love you when the plumber reveals that the sewer flooded our basement because you saw fit to fill the cleanout pipe with tiny pebbles that would require two attempts by specialists to remove. And I love you when I discover your affinity for nail polish is not just limited to toenails, but to walls, tables and to your dad when he is sleeping.

I love you when you roll your eyes, borrow my clothes without asking, thump your brother on the head, leave your backpack on the kitchen floor for the fiftygazillionth time in a row and come into my bedroom in the middle of the night, stand 3 inches away from my face and tell me you heard a noise.

And I even love you when you wear that flat-billed cap that makes your ears stick out or pick all the carrots out of the salad I lovingly chopped or demand I find Wiz Khalifa on the radio.

Because of this love so deep, I promise to always be there for you, including every time you are injured, sad or ill (except for the stomach flu, which I will usually turf to your dad because it is gross). It also includes your every sport, concert and recital, even though I have to watch other people’s kids there, too. And every time your friends are over and you all have so much fun you forget I can hear what you are saying. Yes, as Sting says, I’ll be watching you.

I also promise to never cut your bangs myself (ever again), to never dress you in those hideous polyester bellbottoms my mom used to make me wear and to never make you smell or eat sauerkraut. And, as three of you are girls, I promise every family vacation will include some sort of plumbing and real toilet paper.

And I promise that in spite of all of this expert care I will give you, you will all have awkward stages in your life that will ultimately make you more enjoyable to be around as adults. And all those years spent with braces, glasses and bad hair and any resulting weekend nights at home with us, wishing we would stop quoting Bon Jovi songs and just be cool like everyone else’s parents, will eventually allow you to stop worrying so much about everyone else and love yourself for what is on the inside.

Almost as much as I do. I promise.