What mothers really need for Mother's Day: some thoughtful words, a visit, a hug

I know I'm being dramatic. That it will be years before they become totally self-sufficient, that even when they do,I'm hopeful our relationships will be such that they'll actually like me enough to want to hang out with me occasionally.

There's a song they play in the car, 7 years, by Lukas Graham ... and there's a line that says "I hope my children come and visit, once or twice a month" … and every time it comes on I ask will you come and visit me? And while one rolls her eyes, the other makes some smart comment about needing his washing done.

It's not that I'm being needy. It's just that it's nice to be needed. And I can see the day where they won't need me any more. I hope they always want me in their lives, but need is a different thing altogether. And part of me needs the need.

It will strike me at the most ridiculous times. Walking through the babywear section of Target and there's a little outfit Blossie would have looked beautiful in. All pink and polkadots. (Not that she ever wore pink polkadots, but you know what I mean.) And now I don't dare to buy her something to wear because, apparently, I have poor taste in clothes.

Or I'll have them at the doctors, and they can tell the doctor what's wrong themselves.

Or they'll make their own dinner. Or bake a cake. Or make sandwiches when they are hungry. Sometimes they might even clean up after themselves.

Or they'll have friends I don't know about. Or be organising their own social schedules.

Keeping on top of their own school work (well at least one of them), reading books they've selected themselves, watching television shows I know nothing about.

Living their own little lives, independent of me. Part of me hates it.

But then, when I take a deep breath, I realise this is all part of my job as their mother. To give them all the skills and lessons and love they need and then send them on their way. To raise them and release them.

And I take another breath, and I warm with the confidence knowing that, even though at times I'm a mess, I'm doing a pretty good job of it all and, when they are ready, they will be OK.

And as we prepare for Mother's Day (just another Sunday, one filled with washing and hockey and homework) and my inbox is inundated with ideas about what mum wants tomorrow – things ranging from power tools to jewellery to a good night's sleep – remember what your mum probably wants is to feel needed.

Ask her a question about something she's an expert on.

Buy her a book you think she'd like and say I thought you would like this when I saw it on the shelves.

Get tickets for a show and take her.

Go around and get her to cook you dinner because you like her cooking. Tell her that's why.

Ask for her help.

Sit on the lounge with her and give her cuddle, even if you're a 90kg man monster and she's your tiny mum.

Pick her flowers from your garden.

Make her a cake.

Write her a letter, a proper letter. Find some scented paper. Post it. Don't email it.

Just go see her. Or call her. Be with her.

One of my favourite books, for all sentimental sorts of reasons, is Love You Forever, a children's picture book which I stumbled across some 30 years ago. It's a story about a young boy and his mother who, through different stages of his life, go through some ups and downs, but at the end of every night she sneaks into his bedroom and cuddles him and sings him a lullaby. OK, it does get a little creepy when she continues to do this after he has grown and moved out of home but then at the end, when the mother is frail and dying, the son does the same for her.

I cry every time I read this book. Even now. Even now my own little babies won't let me read it to them any more.

A mother's love is forever, even when she is no longer needed for all the practical applications of motherhood. And the best indication that she's done OK is when her children love her back. When they need her, long after they need her.

Happy Mother's Day.