For ALL the Mothers

(I don't know who wrote this, but I some like it. For all my friends who are mothers, used to be mothers, are about to be mothers, and/or are acting in loco parentis: Keep your heads up. Your work means everything.)


This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with
sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up puke 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 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 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, hockey or soccer games instead of watching from
the warmth of their cars, so 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.

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 [or pierce their lips.
Don't ask].

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 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 panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when
you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again
in your home?

Or 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?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our
thoughts are 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. For all of us.

Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we
can. Tell them every day that we love them. And pray.

Dear Jesus, my Brother, thank you for Mama.