My boys certainly made a proper fuss of me, though as ever despite the money spent the best presents were the hand written cards - Max managed his name for the first time - and the gorgeous, windy smile from one of the youngest members of the clan, Jonah, who at six weeks is just starting to get his chops around this tricky manoeuvre with heart melting results.
But as I lazed around amidst the mess of wrapping paper, breakfast debris and cosy warm small boys it got me thinking about Mothers' Day back when I was a child. My parents were never great believers in any festivals or celebrations aside from birthday and Christmas, for which my mum made an uncharacteristic, but extremely enthusiastic, exception.
They were the archtypal rationalists and I don't recall a time when I believed in Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, and don't even get me started on religion. This had the result that my poor mum was rather short changed when it came to celebrating her role within the family.
The best she could hope for was to get the wilted remains of a bunch of primroses wrapped in soggy kitchen paper. And these were a freebie handed to all the children at our local church on Mothering Sunday, one of the few days I would actually attend with the express purpose of snaffling this helpful gift.
Not, I think, that she minded as back in her more youthful days principles were more important than presents, but nowadays she seems to have caught on and I don't think a little posy of free flowers, or the modern day equivalent, a bunch of blooms sold by the roadside, would really cut it.
Though when it really comes down to most mums would trade any amount of gifts for an uninterrupted lie in and someone else doing their chores for the day. Come to think of it I am pretty sure my mum would have loved that present the most too, so perhaps times haven't really changed that much.