A Tribute To Mothers
This is for all the mothers who NEVER won "Mother of the Year,"
and all those to busy being a mother to care.
This is for all the mothers who freeze their you know what on metal bleachers
instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids ask, "Did you see
my goal?" they can say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for
This is for every mother who ever sat up all night with a sick toddler
in her arms, wiping the child at both ends, while saying, "It's
okay honey, Mommy's here."
This is for all the mothers of the victims of our nation's school
shootings, and the mothers of the murderers. 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.
It's for all the mothers who run carpools and bake cookies and sew
Halloween costumes. AND, it's for all the mothers who DON'T.
What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
The ability to nurse, cook dinner and sew on a button all at the same time?
Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your child
disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the first time?
Is it the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you
hear news of a school-shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?
I think so.
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.
This is for reading "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year.
reading it again. "Just one more time."
This is for all the mothers who mess up. Those who yell at their kids in
the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like tired
three-year-olds who want ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie shoelaces
before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted
for Velcro instead.
It's for all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed--
when their 14 year-olds dye their hair green, pierce body parts and
ask for contraceptives.
This is for all the mothers who lock themselves in the bathroom when
babies 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 purses.
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 offspring
are not with them.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, and who can't find
the words to reach them.
This is for mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep
deprivation. And 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 the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.
THANK YOU MOTHERS, wherever you may be. This is for you all.
[ Author Unknown -- from Keith Todd -- Ed:Anon. ]
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