I am ever fearful of how stupendously brainless retailers believe women to be. ("Is it heart-shaped and fluffy? Does it smell nice? She wants it, guys!") And year after year, I am horrified by how low they are prepared to stoop.

I am ever fascinated by the many different ways Mother's Day can make me feel guilty. I've learnt one thing from three years of talking to you, lovely readers... it's that you can lead a woman to praise, but you can't make her take it.

This year's guilt?

Well, first I feel guilty because my own mother is far away for the first time in years, and I haven't really spoken to her properly for a while and this is a time to celebrate the chickness that is her and us... and we aren't going to be able to do that.

Then I feel guilty because I don't think I deserve Mother's Day. I am the Dad in our family at the moment; Andreas is the one who juggles working from home and kid lifts and homework and macaroni cheese and last-minute raincoats and the runaway hamster and buying yet another recorder. And it's that juggle that I think Mother's Day should celebrate – and I am not that sort of mother.

Don't get me wrong; I think I am a really great Dad. My kids and I spend most of our time together playing, talking, snuggling and generally enjoying the hell out of each other. It's just that when my sons hand over their glitter-spangled masterpieces on Sunday, I am going to feel like a giant fraud.

I explained this to Deirdre this morning, and she snorted at me.

"PaTHEtic!" she said. (No one says pathetic quite like Deirdre. The very specific emphasis makes it heart-warmingly dismissive.) "Please tell me you see the irony here? You're mad with retailers because they tell you you're a soft, fluffy Mum. Then you're mad with yourself for not being one. Lighten up, idiot. Your family is happy and works great for all of you. Celebrate that."