It was Nia Vardalos who said, “Becoming a mom, to me, means you have accepted that for the next 16 years of your life, you will have a sticky purse.”

Lynne Williams observed, “A mother need only step into the shower to be instantly reassured she is indispensable to every member of her family.”

Shonda Rhimes offered this piece of advice: “You want to torture someone? Hand them an adorable baby they love who doesn’t sleep.”

Ah, motherhood, what a wonderful, blessed thing.

Fortunately, it is biologically impossible for me to be blessed enough to be a mom. I have neither the patience, grace nor superhero cape for it.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, that one day out of the whole year that we dash into the discount store, grab the first card off the rack, even if it’s a “get well soon” card, and show our great gratitude by gushing the words, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, got anymore meatloaf?”

Moms are amazing creatures. They come with factory-installed oversized hearts, eyes in the back of their heads, eight arms and voices that can be heard two counties over — at least, it seems that way. Otherwise, how could they possibly do all that they do?

It was the great philosopher Betty White who observed, “It’s not easy being a mom. If it were easy, fathers would do it.”

Three days before Mother’s Day, it was my mom’s birthday. It wouldn’t be good form for me to tattle about how many candles were on the cake, but a pair of eights were involved in the number. It was a big cake. We had fire extinguishers ready.

Mom had four of us, starting with me, the kid who made her a mom, and then three interlopers over the next 11 years who made her hair fall out. Hey, don’t blame it on me. When I was the only kid in the house, Mom’s hair was full and dark. The white didn’t happen until years later. My three siblings came years after me. Coincidence? Of course not.

“Burton William, you be nice to your brothers and sister. Being a mom is tough enough without you adding to the stress with your nonsense.”

Apparently, being a mother would be a whole lot easier if kids weren’t involved.

“Insanity is hereditary; you get it from your children,” the great philosopher Sam Levenson opined. I think my mom said it first.

It was the great philosopher Rita Rudner who said, “My husband and I are either going to buy a dog or have a child. We can’t decide whether to ruin our carpet or ruin our lives.”

Mark Twain noted, “My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.” But I notice that we never got any confirmation of that claim from his mom.

“The one thing children wear out faster than shoes is parents,” John J. Plomp said. I don’t know who Mr. Plomp is, but I bet he was referring to mothers specifically.

Other observations about motherhood by the great philosophers — all of whom had mothers — include:

• The real menace in dealing with a 5-year-old is that in no time at all you begin to sound like a 5-year-old.– Jean Kerr

• “My 2-year-old referred to her coat pockets as “snack holes,” and this is what I shall forever call them.” — Rebecca Caprara

• “Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.” — Phyllis Diller

• “No matter how old a mother is, she watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.” — Florida Scott-Maxwell

• “This would be a better world for children if parents had to eat the spinach.” — Groucho Marx

• “A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children; obstetrically once and by car forever after.” — Peter De Vries

• “Insanity is hereditary; you get it from your children.” — Sam Levenson

• “If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?” — Milton Berle

To all you mothers out there, Happy Mother’s Day. And happy birthday, too, Mom.

Tattle on Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com.