Signed, sealed, delivered.

A mother is a mother is a mother.

It's no matter to your mother if you're 8 and don't want to be told. "Um, did you even brush your hair?" Because all mothers of daughters secretly relate to those Toddler and Tiara moms. Even if they're slightly wild eyed from misguided, vicarious living, they're driven by the same need as me to proclaim just how fantastically amazingly lovely her girl is.

It's no matter to your mother if you're 20 and don't want to be reminded to add eggs to your tuna salad. You do what you wanna do but she didn't raise you like that.

I don't want you driving after dark, she'll say, even though you're 30some and a mother yourself, never thinking to take foolish risks because she's taught you so well the rewards of watching grands grow.

Plus, these people need you.

Who else will keep 'em straight when rats would nest in their hair if you didn't insist they brush it properly? Or who would keep a cap on the world wide web because we do not need that spilling all over the house? Or who would carefully and methodically facilitate your future? And, it's no matter to you but that's enough sweet treats for one day. That makes a lifetime of treats, really, since the grand Mother was in charge of you for the night.

It's no matter to her but it's hard to recognize the woman that raised me as she's waiting hand and foot on these grand People like they're royalty while she's still declaring after-dark driving curfews and insufficient make up application on me, the rightful heir.

It's no matter to your mother if you're 41 and stayed up all the night fretting to sick and you don't want her to say, What's wrong with you?, because her voice can reduce you to lumpy throated tears just when you regained your composure like a grown up. Maybe she is the one, after all.

Apparently, there's no end to the matter for a mother for whom nothing else matters so much.