It felt good

My oldest friend is completely at the end of her tether with her two kids. Her son, a highschool junior, has been skipping school, is tardy when he does show up, and hasn't been turning his work in. Her 11-year-old daughter is a little slob, leaving wet towels and gum wrappers and chaos wherever she goes through the house. My oldest friend can't find a way to get through to either child.

As my friend spoke, I suddenly felt bad for my own mom. I brought both the sloppiness and the antipathy toward school to the table all by myself, and she still had two other kids to contend with. (My older sister became sexually active very young, and my younger sister experimented with smoking … everything.) There was a time when, if she was awake, she was yelling one of us. And she handled us on her own, since my dad believed child-rearing was "woman's work." I am sorry for what I put her through and I'm grateful she never gave up on me.

So I sent my mom the roses you see here. The card said, "I'm sorry for the 1970s." She laughed and told me not to mention it. She said that for all the trouble we three girls have ever been, she wouldn't trade us for anything.

I sent roses to my oldest friend, too. Her middle name is Rose, and she could use a pick-me-up, as well.

It's Easter weekend. Bring someone flowers. Or if it's easier, just click your way through FTD.com. You'll be glad you did.