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 the world."

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. And then 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 graves.

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. ]