This is for all 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 OK honey, Mommy's here." when they
keep crying and won't stop.
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 all the mothers who froze their buns off on
metal bleachers at football or soccer games Friday
night instead of watching from cars, so that when their
kids asked, "Did you see me?" 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 like a tired 2-year old who wants ice
cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their
children and explained all about making babies. And
for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't. 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 all mothers whose heads turn automatically
when a little voice calls "Mom ?" in a crowd, even
though they know their own off spring are at home.
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 sometimes until
they bleed-when their 14 year olds dye their hair
green.
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 heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch
your son or daughter disappear down the street,
walking to school alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed
to crib 2 A.M.to put your hand on the back of a
sleeping baby?
The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your
child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a
child dying? For all the mothers of the victims of all
these 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 mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves.
This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper
changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers
learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married Mothers. Mothers with
money, mothers without.
This is for you all. So hang in there.
"Home is what catches you when you fall-and we all fall."
Love you Mom!
