12:10 a.m. Yeah, well. I love my mother dearly. I hope she knows that. I think she does, but she could probably use some reminding. So, I will call tomorrow and prostrate myself on her endless mercy because I ran plumb out of day and I have no excuse good enough for why I didn't call today.

My daughter berated me and urged me to hang up right after talking to her and call my mother immediately. But my daughter was calling from her brand-new condo, and she was lying in the sun, in her brand-new fourth-floor solarium, and she was yawning, and I was yawning in unison and getting more tired by the second.

I can be fussy and tired on the phone with my daughter. I cannot be that way with my mother. I thought it best that I take a nap first, so that when I called home my voice would be nice and cheery and upbeat and I could hold up my end of any conversation with impunity. That only makes good sense. Don't want to be a drag on Mother's Day.

So I went and I took a nap. A longer nap than I'd planned.

And then I had a few dinner obligations and by the time I looked at the clock ... I figured it was 9-ish on the East Coast and my mom might be watching TV, and I shouldn't disturb her. Ditto for the 10-ish hour. And then, of course, I wasn't sure exactly when she'd be going off to bed ...

Welcome to the inner workings in the mind of a Bad Daughter.

I'm sure both my sisters and my brother called home, and maybe one or both or even all three stopped in with treats or goodies. They are the good children. They live nearby. They have sensible jobs, with days off. They all drive vehicles. Their children live nearby.

I don't live nearby.

My mom doesn't like getting flowers in the mail. And the mail is not reliable anyway. The card I sent her for her birthday in November just arrived last week, over six months late, thanks to a Post Office error, and this time it wasn't my fault. I mailed it on time. I have proof.

If I were rich, I'd send lots of money, just for fun. I did send some nice diamonds a while ago ... and that felt good. I know I can never do enough -- how can you ever repay someone for holding you and smiling at you and cuddling you when you needed it most?

She deserves better than me.

And I don't deserve the good kids I have. I was nowhere near the mother she was, and she did her job in almost war-time circumstances. The year my daughter was born, Sesame Street came on the air. The year I was born, they were still rationing sugar.

I'm still rationalizing. I'll call tomorrow after the crowds have thinned. There will be more time to chat. The house won't be full of company. We're all mature adults now ... what's a single day, either way, when people love each other?

Who am I kidding?

I wish I were a kid again. Back in that special place. Held in the arms of my mommy.