If you are reading this, I must have survived Mother’s Day.

I love being a mother more than anything, even on the days that I threaten to put all four of my sons in a cardboard box in front of Ralphs with a sign that says “Free Puppies.” That might have worked well for me last Mother’s Day, because the refrigerator broke down the week before, and the replacement came in a box that was actually big enough to hold my puppy pack of boys.

It’s just that the logistics are complicated. We have five mothers to honor among our collective four sets of grandparents and great-grandmother. With all the families involved, our Mother’s Day negotiations begin before St. Patrick’s Day. Predictably, the day also coincides with the breakdown of a major household appliance. This year it’s the washing machine. Think about that a minute. Four sons. Stinky athletic socks.