You know what mothers really want? Sure, flowers are nice and gifts are special, but what we want is pretty simple.

We want to be seen and we want to be chosen.

That toy we picked up, the meal we cooked, that late-night feed, changing the toilet paper roll and filling up the soap. The appointments we make, the activities we create. The things we do to keep the day together. We want it to be seen. We want it to be noticed. To be appreciated.

When we ask for help and you think it’s nagging, take a second to think we need you. We need you on our team. If you see that mess on the floor don’t wait for her to pick it up, don’t wait until she loses her mind. Help her. She needs you. Change that light bulb when you say you will. Doing what you said you’d do builds trust.

If we fight for your love, we tell you we want cuddles, that we want to spend time with you, that we need you to choose us, take it as a sign that we love you so much and are choosing you. The day a woman stops asking for your affection is the day she doesn’t want to fight anymore. See her effort and choose her.

Don’t wait until the kids are 18 to go on dates—do it now. See her for her beauty, the laugh that you loved; remind her about that thing that made you fall in love with her.

See the woman you fell in love with.

When she’s trying to tell you something and the kids are climbing all over her and not letting her speak, show them the example by asking them to wait. Teach them that her voice is important and worthy to be heard. Put your phone down, look at her, and listen.

Show her you’re on her side, that if she acts crazy and says she wants to fly to the moon, be that person who will help her build a rocket ship. Be her friend. Be her support. Be her cheer squad.

Hold her hand when she’s at her best and even when she’s at her worst, whether it’s mentally or physically, and notice her.

See her, and choose her. Through the highs and the lows and all in-between. Through the hard times and the good. The tiring and the fun.

Choose her—every second, every minute and every day.

This post originally appeared on Laura Mazza