Happy Mother's Day

 This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with 
sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up spit laced with 
Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, 
"It's OK honey, Mommy's here."

Who walk around the house all night with their babies 
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 purses.

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 meant 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 theirs 
are safe 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 her 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 at 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 for the mothers of those who "did" the shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front 
of their TV's 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. 
( All Mothers are working Mothers ! )

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

"Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall"

I would like to "Thank" the author of these
wonderful words that come from the heart.

© 1999 Cindy Lange-Kubick