Mother's Day will be

different this year.
My mother died in 2000 and we have never had to go through the embarrassment of again being asked, "What did you give your mother?"  or "What did you do on Mother's Day?" 
It was an embarrassment simply because we were not permitted to  give Mum anything or do anything for her.  I remember our one attempt to do something. We four children put our pocket money together and bought our mother a book we knew she wanted to read. (The book was Lillian Beckwith's, "The sea for breakfast".) We gave it to her on the morning of Mother's Day. 
It was passed back to us with the words, "You know we don't celebrate Mother's Day. Every day should be a mother's day. Return it to the shop."
We took it back, still in the wrapping the shop had provided. Instead of admitting what she had said we lied and said she had been given two copies so that we did get our pocket money back. 
I have never been able to read the book.
Mum would have seen herself as having done absolutely the right thing. She would have  believed she was teaching us a lesson about the commercialism which surrounds Mother's Day. It was a bit like that with Christmas and Easter too.  We were given useful presents at Christmas - things we would have needed anyway but a bit more interesting than new school shoes.  Mum did not give us Easter eggs either - although she sometimes remembered to dye our boiled eggs with cochineal.  
Mum did not even want cards we had made. She most certainly did not want her breakfast brought to her in bed or a meal made for her or to be taken out for a meal. 
It is just the way Mum was. I don't think she had any idea how hurt we felt.
Middle Cat's eldest is off duty today. He and his wife have invited her and my BIL for lunch - social distancing measures allowing this when certain precautions are taken. Middle Cat told Nephew's partner that, "Mother's Day isn't something we fuss about but not having to cook lunch will be lovely." 
And no, it isn't something they fuss over but Youngest Nephew will have a long chat with her from interstate as well. They often do but this  one will also be an acknowledge of her role as mother.
Brother Cat's partner is not the mother of his children. Their mother is no longer alive. R.... has taken her place as far as she can. For them she is "mother" even though they do not call her "mum". Actual visits are not permitted in their state but there will be plenty of chat and flowers or a plant for her garden. They want to acknowledge her importance in their lives - and they do it at other times as well. 
Mother's Day is too much a commercial event but, had church services been permitted here, there would almost certainly have been a focus on two things. One would of course been the role of mothers in our lives. The other would have been the 75th Anniversary of VE Day. 
When we put those two things together the role of mothers becomes very powerful indeed. The poem is sentimental mid-Victorian but yes, mothers are to be celebrated.

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
Is The Hand That Rules The World

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow--
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
William Ross Wallace