Mothers. What group of people has been more glorified and vilified?

On one hand is the idealized image of selfless, wise, patient, and loving maternal perfection celebrated in greeting cards, songs, and “I Love Mom” tattoos.

On the other hand are the darker stereotypes of the controlling, hypercritical, self-absorbed, guilt-inducing mother responsible for all her children’s insecurities and hang-ups; the wicked stepmother of fairy tales; and the interfering mother-in-law.

Hardly anyone’s mother fits any of these images. Real moms come in an infinite variety of packages – all with a unique array of virtues and faults.

As we get older, the images of our mothers are little more than the memories we choose to emphasize. I don’t think any of us can be objective about the merits or faults of our mothers any more than our mothers can be objective about us. Some will approach Mother’s Day, therefore, with warm feelings and gratitude while others will find themselves fighting or indulging feelings of resentment.

I’m on the gratitude side. My mom died in her early 40s of breast cancer shortly after giving birth to her sixth child. I wish I’d had her longer, but my memories are good ones.

Mother’s Day now is about the greatest mother I’ve ever known, my wife Anne.

For the first 11 years of our marriage, this beautiful, smart, and funny graduate of an Ivy League college chose to shelve her personal ambitions for full-time devotion to the most difficult, important, frustrating, exhausting, and fulfilling job in the word – being a mom to our four daughters.

Although she has since created and manages a highly successful children’s gymnastics center, she is still, first and foremost, a mom. And while she often beats herself up for not being a perfect one, she’s as good as I’ve seen.

So for me, no greeting-card tribute is too corny for the mother I will honor and thank this Sunday. Happy Mother’s Day, Anne!

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.