Technically it's not Mother's Day for another six hours here, midnight Oz time. Every year, I get a fluffy pink robe. I mean I buy myself a pink robe together with the boys - usually one of those soft fleecy packaged ones from the supermarket that cost fifteen dollars but we pick up for ten since we usually get it on the day - and we call it my gift...

This joke has been going on since the time they finished Primary School, when I stopped getting all those 'forced to make for Mother's Day' creations accompanied by crudely folded paper cards and assorted stapled IOU's for cups of tea and breakfasts in bed I have never collected on.

I love my yearly robe, I do. The trouble is, for the past six years, our cat has loved it/them more. Maybe because I was wearing one when we first brought him home from the barn where he was born? Anyway, the cat loves my robe so much, he snuggles in it, he snuffles his nose in it, he rubs his belly all over it and being 'unfixed' he sometimes sprays it - I'm sure it's accidental, really. 

So my pink robe in a matter of weeks becomes this thing I share with the cat. It stinks.

I wash it, I wear it, he wears it and between the two of us... yeah, by the end of any given year it looks like a homeless person has worn it as an outer garment for at least a decade. The bright pink fluff fades. And fades. And then there's no more fluff. It's just this dull, torn, stained and smelly thing I get to wear sometimes...

I was doing some writing the past hours, the house quiet, both boys gone out for the afternoon with Boyd. (Yeah, he's been here ten days now, he does this sometimes - remember he came over last week and stepped right in the middle of our Easter nightmare? He's still here.)

I knew this Mother's day would be different. Dylan is now getting his Youth Allowance see, so he's 'cashed up'. I did think it odd that the three of them went to the Mall but Mother's Day being tomorrow, I didn't associate it with today's outing.

Marcus tagging along made me pause sure, since he absolutely hates shopping. Last time I had to buy him a pair of shoes, I was crying in the middle of a huge Department Store, between bouts of begging.

"Pick one. Just pick one pair, please!"

We'd been at it for over an hour see, and there were hundreds of pairs there, and I would choose one up and then the next.

"What about these?"

"Don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I don't know!"

Over and over. By the end of it I was just pointing at anything. Low boots. Dress shoes. Boat shoes. Joggers. It didn't matter, he just needed some goddamn shoes. I even reached for the $1200 crocodile skin pair. I would have gone that far.

But there comes the moment with Marcus when he sees me reach a point. Where I stare upwards (usually there's a camera recording this) and I start to cry for real. I mean I can cry on cue and he knows this; he's seen me use the ploy - but there's a certain face I pull apparently when they know it's for real? So he walked up to one of the first few pairs we'd seen and he said, "I'll just take these."

So the fact he willingly went along today was kind of surprising, but engrossed in my writing, I soon forgot.

Dylan's the opposite. He will spend endless days researching online, fixated on this one pair of Doc Marten's say. He will locate the nearest store, make sure they have it in stock and in his size, make sure the price is comparable - allowing for shipping - then we will walk in to the store, he will try them on and say "Yep". Then he'll wear them twice, then they'll sit with the dozen other pairs under his desk.

But he'll also walk into a thrift shop, spend $5 on a pair of 'almost new' Converse runners and wear them day in day out for weeks. Yesterday he went to the supermarket in black socks and black 'flip-flops' as you Americans call them. The kid has style.

So here they were in my room, about an hour ago now. A big bag with a large red target in Dylan's hand... He reached inside... and out came the bright pink plush robe.

"It cost forty dollars mum, and it's-" he fumbled with the label for a bit, "It's Coral Fleece, so that's good right?"

"Actually it was thirty five dollars mum," Marcus corrected, since the price tag was still on there. "Target Collection," he said with some pride. A huge step up from Woolie's Home brand, that was for sure.

Then Marcus handed over the card. "We couldn't find any Mother's Day ones, so..."

I opened the envelope. Yep. There was Spider Man doing his wrist thing, the large 'Birthday' in Happy Birthday scratched out, and Dylan's scrawled "Mother's Day" alongside it.

I opened the card to hear... "Happy Birthday Superhero!"

"The card cost ten bucks mum!"

Again, the 'Big Day' scratched out and Mother's day scrawled in on the inside. "Dear Mum, scratch, scrawl. From Dylan and Marcus."

I didn't have the heart to tell them Mother's Day cards were kept separate from the normal card section and probably very close to where they'd bought the bright pink new robe.*

I just hugged them both and I cried. Yep, I was the happiest Mother's Day Eve mother in the world!

"Hey Dyls, take the old one downstairs, put it on the couch in the garage... for the cat?"

My boy, my man, my pride and joy grabbed it and said, "Nuh, I'm gonna wear it now, it's mine."

"Wash it first!" was the only thing I got in before they bounded down the stairs, leaving me here with Spiderman and a hot new Target robe.

May all you mothers out there share the same joy - maybe not the same scenario as we are kinda not normal in this house - as I did, as I still do. I no longer have to pay for my Mother's Day gift; you know how cool this is?

*Okay, the card has another meaning altogether. They knew where to get the Mother's Day ones. They were looking for a particular Superhero... I had to settle for the next best one. I saw the apology in Dylan's eyes. Still, it is more special to me than any other pink and flowery thing they could have chosen. Really. I keep opening it over and over just to hear "Happy Birthday Superhero!"