Okay so. Mother’s Day is coming up and I am not going to let you repeat what I did three years ago, which was buying my mum a bunch of those pre-wrapped supermarket roses — you know the ones, in the slightly sad cellophane with the rubber band around them — and handing them over while she said “oh, lovely!” in that specific tone that meant she was being polite.
We don’t do that anymore. I have done the research. I have, genuinely, spent an embarrassing amount of time learning about flowers so that you don’t have to. You’re welcome.
The thing is, there’s actually SO much interesting stuff behind each of these flowers — like, did you know the whole Mother’s Day carnation thing started with one woman in West Virginia who specifically did NOT want it to become a commercial holiday, and then it became the most commercial holiday, and she spent the rest of her life trying to stop it? She died broke. The flower industry paid her bills. I cannot stop thinking about this.
Anyway. Flowers. Let’s go.
First, a few things I’ve learned the hard way
Buy from an actual florist if you possibly can. I know it’s easier to click Add to Cart at midnight on Saturday and have something show up, but the difference between a florist who knows what they’re doing and a bunch that’s been in a refrigerated warehouse for a week is genuinely significant. My local florist — [LOCAL FLORIST NAME] on [STREET] — will ask you questions when you walk in. What’s she like. What does her house look like. What colours does she wear. And then she’ll make something that’s actually her, not just a generic “Mum Bouquet.” That’s worth something.
Fresh matters more than fancy. A simple bunch of daffodils that were cut two days ago will outlast and outperform an elaborate arrangement of tired roses every single time. Ask when things came in. A good florist will tell you. A bad one will be vague.
Smell it. Roses especially. A rose that doesn’t smell like a rose is not doing its job. If you’re in the shop and the roses smell of nothing, move on.
The Flowers
🤍 The White Carnation
The one with the most interesting backstory in this entire list
Okay I know what you’re thinking. Carnations? Really? Aren’t those the ones from the petrol station?
Bear with me.
The carnation is actually the original Mother’s Day flower — like, specifically chosen, with intention, by the woman who invented Mother’s Day. Her name was Anna Jarvis and in 1908 she distributed 500 white carnations at a church service in West Virginia in memory of her mother. She’d chosen them because her mum loved them, and because — and I find this genuinely beautiful — carnation petals cling together as the flower dies rather than falling separately. She saw that as a symbol of a love that doesn’t let go.
The white ones were for mothers who had died. Coloured ones were for mothers still living. That distinction — holding grief and love at the same time in one flower — is actually more emotionally sophisticated than most of what the modern flower industry sells us.
The commercial carnation — the spray carnation used as filler in every generic arrangement — has kind of ruined the carnation’s reputation, but the proper ones? The heritage varieties with the strong clove-and-spice scent? Completely different flower. Completely worth reconsidering.
If you want to do something a bit different this year that will also give you something to actually talk about when you hand them over: white or deep crimson carnations, from a florist who sources them properly (not spray carnations — single stems), with the Anna Jarvis story in your back pocket. I promise this lands better than you’d expect.
Where to find them locally: [LOCAL FLORIST] usually stocks them — call ahead and ask for single-stem dianthus, not spray carnations. Also spotted them at [LOCAL MARKET] on Saturday mornings when I went last spring.
🌹 The Rose
The one everyone buys but not everyone buys well
The rose is, depending on how you approach it, either the most meaningful or most meaningless flower on this list.
The most meaningful version: the rose that came from a cutting of your grandmother’s rose bush, or that grows in your mum’s garden and that you’ve picked and brought in. That rose is irreplaceable and perfect and the best possible gift.
The least meaningful version: the cellophane-wrapped supermarket dozen that smells of nothing and was grown in a greenhouse in Kenya and flown to Amsterdam and then driven to a distribution centre and then delivered to your door and costs £14.99 and will be dead in four days.
The difference is real and worth caring about. The good news is you don’t have to choose between “sentimentally grown in a garden” and “commercially produced” — there’s a middle ground where the commercially produced roses are genuinely beautiful. The David Austin varieties — the cupped, many-petalled, fragrant ones — are now available from better florists and they are actually lovely. ‘Juliet’ is the one I’ve seen most often locally and it’s genuinely gorgeous.
Also: if you’re buying commercially grown, Fairtrade-certified flowers come with better working conditions for the people who grew them. It’s on the label. Worth checking.
Where to find good ones locally: I’ve had good results from [LOCAL FLORIST], who can source the David Austin varieties with a couple of days’ notice. [LOCAL MARKET STALL] — the one on the left as you go in — has been stocking really decent roses lately, owner is very knowledgeable. Avoid the bunches outside [SPECIFIC LOCAL SUPERMARKET] — I’ve never had good luck there.
🌷 The Tulip
The democratic hero of the spring bunch
Tulips are my personal comfort zone for this time of year, and I don’t apologise for this. They’re cheerful and generous and they open wider every day in a warm room and there’s something really satisfying about watching that happen.
The fun fact I didn’t know until recently: tulips caused the world’s first recorded financial bubble. In 17th-century Holland, single bulbs of new varieties were trading at the price of houses before the whole thing collapsed. The “tulip mania” thing is a real economic event that people still write about. The humble £4 bunch at the corner shop is the extremely normalised descendant of that chaos, which I find kind of delightful.
Tulips don’t have a huge amount of Mother’s Day-specific symbolism — they’re here mostly because they’re the spring flower, they’re available in beautiful colours, and they’re genuinely difficult to go wrong with. A generous bunch of mixed colours or all one colour in a tall, simple vase is never a bad choice.
My actual buying tip: Buy them when the buds are still mostly closed. I know it’s tempting to pick the most open and impressive-looking ones, but closed buds mean days of watching them open, and that’s actually better. Trust me on this.
Where to find them locally: Honestly, the [LOCAL MARKET] flower stall is excellent for tulips in March-April. [CORNER SHOP ON X STREET] gets decent ones in too — smaller bunch but usually fresh.
🌸 The Peony
The show-off option. Worth the effort.
Peonies have a window of about three to four weeks in the UK, running through late May and early June, and in that window they are absolutely spectacular. Multi-petalled, extravagantly full, often fragrant, opening slowly over several days from tight buds into blooms that seem almost too generous to be real.
The thing about peonies that I’ve come to appreciate is that finding them requires actually paying attention to the season. You can’t just click and order them in February. They’re here now, and if you want them you have to notice and act. There’s something in that — the effort of seeking out a seasonal flower is itself a kind of care. It says: I was paying attention to what time it was.
In China, the peony is the national flower and the primary choice for Mother’s Day. It symbolises abundance and wealth and the full expression of generosity — qualities that, when you look at a fully open peony, feel entirely accurate. Tang dynasty poets wrote about them with an enthusiasm that puts Instagram captions to shame.
The practical note: buy when the buds are still closed and just starting to feel slightly soft. They’ll open over three to four days in water. Keep them out of direct sun if you want them to last. And yes, put them somewhere you’ll actually look at them, because they go fast and you don’t want to miss it.
Where to find them locally: [LOCAL FLORIST] gets them in from late May — I’d call ahead and ask them to put some aside for you. Have also seen them at [LOCAL FARM SHOP] which gets theirs from a local grower, which is even better. Spotted at [WEEKEND MARKET] last June for an extremely good price.
🌿 The Sweet Pea
The sentimental one that smells like someone’s memory
Sweet peas are the flower that make people stop talking in the middle of a sentence when they smell them. The fragrance is specific and personal in a way that roses and lilies aren’t — it’s a kind of cottage-garden, early-summer, someone’s-back-garden smell that goes straight to the part of your brain where summers and particular people are stored.
They’re not the easiest to find commercially — they wilt quickly, they can’t be cold-chained easily, and the season is relatively short (late spring to summer in the UK). But when you find them, they’re worth it.
If you have a garden: grow them. Sow the seeds in autumn or early spring, give them something to climb, and you’ll have sweet peas from late May onwards. The heritage varieties — ‘Matucana’ (incredibly fragrant, purple and maroon), ‘Painted Lady’ (pink and white, been grown since 1737), ‘Cupani’ (the original, small flowers, extraordinary scent) — have much more fragrance than modern varieties, which have sometimes been bred for size at the expense of smell. Sound familiar? (See: commercial roses, above.)
If your mum grows sweet peas: the best possible version of this gift is picking them from her own garden on the morning of Mother’s Day and bringing them inside.
Where to find them locally: [LOCAL FLORIST] gets sweet peas in intermittently from late May — worth calling to ask. Also seen them at [LOCAL FARM SHOP/GARDEN CENTRE]. For seeds: [LOCAL INDEPENDENT GARDEN CENTRE] stocks the heritage varieties — I got ‘Matucana’ there last year and it was brilliant.
💜 The Lavender
The one that doesn’t need to be in a vase
Lavender is in this list not because it’s a classic cut flower for Mother’s Day but because it’s probably the flower most likely to make someone think of their mum or grandmother when they smell it. It’s a scent that is deeply embedded in British domestic life — the drawer sachet, the linen cupboard, the bath oil — in a way that connects to maternal memory for a huge number of people.
This makes it a genuinely interesting gift option, but perhaps not in the way you’d think. Rather than lavender as a cut flower (though a big bunch of fresh-cut lavender in full bloom is honestly lovely), consider lavender as a plant, or as a dried bunch for the linen cupboard, or as the starting point for growing something together. A small lavender plant in a terracotta pot with a note saying you want to divide it later and each keep half is, I think, a rather nice thing.
Where to find it locally: Any garden centre will have lavender plants. For dried bunches, I’ve seen them at [LOCAL DELI/HOMEWARE SHOP]. [LOCAL MARKET] sometimes has fresh-cut lavender in summer.
💙 The Forget-Me-Not
The one for a harder kind of Mother’s Day
I want to include this one because not everyone’s Mother’s Day is a straightforward celebration, and the flower market doesn’t really cater to the people for whom this is a day of grief rather than gratitude.
The forget-me-not’s name is its entire message. It self-seeds everywhere — which is normally a garden nuisance, but in this context is sort of poetic — returning each spring whether you ask it to or not. The Victorians used it in mourning jewellery and sent it in letters to the bereaved. It is the flower of faithful remembrance, small and insistent and pale blue.
If you’re thinking of someone who’s lost their mum, or if your own Mother’s Day is shadowed by loss: a small pot of forget-me-nots, given or kept without needing much explanation, says the thing that nothing else quite manages to say.
Where to find them locally: Usually available as small plants at garden centres and supermarkets from February onwards. Plant them out and they’ll come back every year.
🌼 The Chrysanthemum
Underrated everywhere outside Australia and East Asia
The chrysanthemum has a reputation problem in the UK that it absolutely does not deserve. Yes, it’s the flower you find in petrol stations and supermarket car parks. Yes, it’s been used as a cheap filler in a thousand uninspired arrangements. This is not the chrysanthemum’s fault.
The chrysanthemum has been cultivated in China for over 1,500 years. It is the emblem of the Japanese Imperial family. Tang dynasty poets wrote about it at length. In Chinese culture it represents virtuous persistence — blooming when other flowers have retreated, maintaining integrity under difficult conditions. In Australia it’s so completely associated with Mother’s Day that the occasion is sometimes just called Chrysanthemum Day.
If you’re in Australia reading this: you’re fine, keep doing what you’re doing. If you’re in the UK: the large-headed, single-stem Japanese varieties available from decent florists are a different flower from the petrol station spray chrysanthemum. Worth trying.
Where to find them locally: [LOCAL FLORIST] occasionally stocks the interesting Japanese varieties — worth asking. Standard chrysanthemums: everywhere, honestly.
🌺 The Lily
The one that will fill the room with fragrance for a week
If your mum likes fragrance — like, really likes it — lilies are the right answer. The oriental hybrid varieties produce a scent that is substantial enough to notice across a room and persistent enough to still be present hours after the flowers are gone.
The lily’s association with the Virgin Mary makes it a natural choice in Christian contexts, and Mothering Sunday has been accompanied by lilies in various traditions for a long time. In Japan, pink lilies signify aspiration, which is a lovely thing to give someone.
Practical note: buy with buds still closed so the fragrance develops gradually over several days. Also — and this is important — lilies produce orange pollen that stains fabric instantly and permanently. Remove the stamens before the pollen opens, or at least warn whoever receives them. I have ruined a tablecloth. Learn from me.
Where to find them locally: Most florists stock them. I’ve had particularly good ones from [LOCAL FLORIST] lately. Avoid the lilies at [SPECIFIC PLACE] — they’ve been old every time I’ve looked.
The Local Bit (Because That’s Kind of the Point)
Look, I know some of this guide has been quite general, but the honest truth is that the best thing you can do for Mother’s Day flowers is to find a florist who knows what they’re doing, who sources thoughtfully, and who you can have an actual conversation with about what you’re looking for.
Here are the people I’d actually recommend locally:
[LOCAL FLORIST NAME] on [Street/Area] — This is my first port of call for anything important. [She/He/They] will ask you real questions before suggesting anything, stocks interesting varieties that you won’t find in supermarkets, and will tell you honestly when things aren’t their freshest. Good for: peonies (when in season), fragrant roses, unusual seasonal choices. Call ahead for special requests.
[WEEKEND MARKET] flower stall — Usually the [colour/description] van or stall at the [specific location]. The owner grows some of their own flowers and sources the rest from [local/regional] growers. Excellent value. Gets there early — the good stuff goes fast.
[LOCAL FARM SHOP/GARDEN CENTRE] — Good for potted plants if you want something that lasts. The orchid selection has been really solid lately. Also: sweet pea plants in season.
[LOCAL INDEPENDENT GARDEN CENTRE] — If you want to give something to grow rather than something to put in a vase. Good heritage seed selection. The staff actually know what they’re talking about.
Not recommending: the bunches outside [SPECIFIC SUPERMARKET OR PETROL STATION]. I have tried them multiple times and they have consistently been bad. Some battles are not worth fighting.
What If I’ve Left It Too Late
Okay, real talk. It’s Saturday night, the shops are shut, you have nothing, and Mother’s Day is tomorrow morning.
Here is what you do.
Go to your garden (if you have one). Anything in bloom right now. Literally anything. Early daffodils, a sprig of rosemary, the first tulips, some violets from the lawn edge. A handful of whatever’s growing. This is, historically, the original British Mothering Sunday gift. Children walking home picked what they found. This is the tradition. You are in the tradition.
Write something down. On actual paper. Anna Jarvis wanted a handwritten letter more than she wanted any flower. Get a piece of paper and write down three specific things you love or appreciate about your mum. Not “you’ve always been there for me” — that’s a greeting card. Specific things. A memory. Something she said once. Something she does that you didn’t appreciate until recently. This will land harder than any arrangement.
The corner shop at 8am on Sunday morning — Look, we’ve all done it. If you’re going this route, go for the lilies or the tulips rather than the roses (better shelf life, more interesting). Buy something that smells of something. Write the note. You’re fine.
The gesture is what matters. A flower given with attention — even a last-minute one given with a good explanation and genuine feeling — beats an elaborate arrangement given on autopilot every single time. Anna Jarvis knew this. She was right about almost everything except stopping the thing she started.
One Last Thing
My mum’s favourite flower is not on this list. It’s Sweet Williams — which are technically Dianthus barbatus, a cousin of the carnation — and she grows them every year in her garden and cuts them in July and puts them in a jar on the kitchen table. They smell exactly the same as her kitchen has smelled my entire life.
I could spend this year’s Mother’s Day putting together the most beautifully curated, historically informed, Fairtrade-certified, seasonally-appropriate, fragrant-variety arrangement in a handmade ceramic vase.
Or I could grow her some Sweet Williams from seed, pot them up, and give them to her to plant herself.
You can probably guess which one I’m actually going to do.
Happy Mother’s Day. Tell her something specific. It matters more than the flowers.