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This for the mothers who
have sat up all night with sick toddlers
in their arms, wiping up barf laced with
Oscar Mayer wieners and
cherry Kool-Aid saying, 'It's okay honey,
Mommy's here.'
Who have sat in rocking chairs for
hours on end soothing crying babies
who can't be comforted.
This is for all the mothers who show
up at work with spit-up in their
hair and milk stains on their blouses and
diapers in their purse.
For all the mothers who run carpools
and make cookies and sew
Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who DON'T.
This is for the mothers who gave
birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those
babies and gave them homes.
This is for the mothers whose
priceless art collections are hanging on
their refrigerator doors.
And for all the mothers who froze
their buns on metal bleachers at
football or soccer games instead of
watching from the warmth of their
cars.
And that when their kids asked, 'Did
you see me, Mom?'
they could say, 'Of course, I wouldn't have
missed it for the world,'
and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell
at their kids in the grocery
store and swat them in despair when they
stomp their feet and scream
for ice cream before dinner. And for all
the mothers who count to ten
instead, but realize how child abuse
happens.
This is for all the mothers who sat
down with their children and
explained all about making babies. And for
all the (grand)mothers who
wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.
This is for all the mothers who go
hungry, so their children can eat.
For all the mothers who read
'Goodnight, Moon' twice a night for a
year. And then read it again, 'Just one
more time.'
This is for all the mothers who
taught their children to tie their
shoelaces before they started school.
And for all the mothers who opted for
Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who
teach their sons to cook and their
daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for every mother whose
head turns automatically when a little
voice calls 'Mom?'
in a crowd, even though they know
their own offspring are at home --
or even away at college -- or have their
own families.
This is for all the mothers who sent
their kids to school with stomach
aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE
once they got there, only to
get calls from the school nurse an hour
later asking them to please
pick them up. Right away.
This is for mothers whose children
have gone astray, who can't find
the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their
lips until they bleed when their 14
year olds dye their hair green.
For all the mothers of the victims
of recent school shootings, and the
mothers of those who did the shooting.
For the mothers of the survivors,
and the mothers who sat in front of
their TVs in horror, hugging their child
who just came home from
school, safely.
This is for all the mothers who
taught their children to be peaceful,
and now pray they come home safely from a
war.
What makes a good mother anyway?
Is it patience? Compassion? Broad
hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook
dinner, and sew a button on a shirt,
all at the same time?
Or is it in her heart?
Is it the ache she feels when she
watches her son or daughter disappear
down the street, walking to school
alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes her from sleep
to dread, from
bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put her hand on the back of a
sleeping baby?
The panic, years later, that comes
again at 2 A.M. when she just wants
to hear their key in the door and know they
are safe again in her
home?
Or the need to flee from wherever
she is and hug her child when she
hears news of a fire, a car accident, a
child dying?
The emotions of motherhood are
universal and so our thoughts are
for young
mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep
deprivation...
And for mature mothers learning to
let go.
For
working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
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