Every year at about this time, there is a day marked off on our calendars as “Mother’s Day.” This day is set aside to celebrate the women who carried us for nine months before we were born, who nurtured us and cared for us through our most vulnerable years, and who truly love us despite anything that we could possibly do.

In theory, the idea of Mother’s Day is sweet and genuine. Wherever I go with my mom on this day, she gets compliments, hugs and thoughtful comments from complete strangers, all praising her on the job she has worked for the past twenty years–that of being my mother. I have watched these compliments brighten her eyes and add a spring to her step.

These effects on my mother make me smile and squeeze her hand more tightly. The beautiful, feminine flowers decorating every restaurant and shop on this Sunday bring a smile to everyone’s face. On this day every year, every move that a mother makes is praised. She is assisted in the grocery store in reaching the baby formula, people walking down the street chuckle when her child throws a tantrum and she gently scolds him, the stain on her shirt is a mark of resilience through the chaos of her morning.

On Mother’s Day, the sacrifices that mothers make every day of their lives are honored and celebrated. But if we take a moment to look at the same situations just a couple of weeks before, you’ll see a very different picture.

Every move that a mother makes is critiqued, analyzed and judged every single day. People turn and glare at the mother when her child screams on the floor at a grocery store. They look at the stains on her clothes with disdain, appalled that she did not go home and make herself presentable. Taking time off from her job to raise her children is lazy and will set her back in long-term prospects, but returning to work immediately is neglecting her child. Whether openly on social media or behind her back in whispers, there is always something more that could be done or a better way to accomplish the day’s tasks. Mothers deal with these judgments every single day.

None of this compares to the pressure that mothers put on themselves. Nobody cares more about the happiness and well-being of a child than its mother. Her fears, hopes and worries regarding her children dwarf all concerns that any possible naysayer could have.

It is for these normal, ordinary days that we thank our mothers. For the days when the world does nothing but shame her for not being able to perfectly juggle a full-time job while raising four children. For the days when it seems as if no matter how much laundry and dishes she does, there is an ever-increasing amount left to do. For the days when we, her children, scream angrily that she’s the worst mother in the world for whatever trivial mishap has occurred. For the fact that she works, without a doubt, the most under-appreciated job in the world.

Mother’s Day should not be the exception. It should not be the only day that we make breakfast for our mothers in bed and greet her with fresh flowers. It should not be the first time we’ve talked on the phone with her in weeks. It should not be the one day where we look on at mothers endearingly rather than judgmentally.

Thank you, mom, for the laundry, for the dishes, the cleaning and the carpool drives. Thank you for involving yourself in every aspect of my life from day one. Thank you for not only being my mom, but a mom to countless friends of mine as well. Thank you for your never-ending energy (until you sit on the couch for “just a minute” at around 9 p.m. and immediately fall asleep). Thank you for putting your entire life on hold when you found out that I was coming into the world. Thank you for the sacrifices that you made when I was born, then when my sister and the twins followed me not long afterward.

Thank you for the countless carpools you drove and tantrums you handled. Thank you for dealing with my mischief and pretending not to know when I thought I’d gotten away with something, just so you could teach me that even when my parents don’t “catch” me doing something wrong, I’ll get some sort of punishment in the end.

Thank you for nurturing in me an independence and a pride in who I am, but also the humility to realize that nothing of who I am today could have happened without help. Thank you for sacrificing some of your dreams so that I could live mine. Thank you for the way you sing out our names and the excitement that you feel at my little victories, even if sometimes it’s just making it through a tough day.

Most of all, thank you for being there on the normal days when nobody seems to notice or care the amount of work that you put in for your family. Thank you for knowing that no matter how angry we are or what we say when we’re angry, we love you more than any article, gift or words could begin to express.