Mom, I loved you
yesterday, I love you tomorrow and everyday.
You were there for me my first day of school, to hold my hand and give me
courage to go.
You listened to me when I needed to talk, you talked to me when I needed to
listen.
You let me grow and learn from my own mistakes.
You never left my side when I was feeling down, I knew you would be there to
pick me up.
I wish there was a way I could repay all the things you have done for me,
but there's nothing great enought to repay the greatest mother of all.
Author Unknown
This is for all the mothers who DIDN'T win Mother of the Year. All the
runners-up and all the wannabes. The mothers too tired to enter or too busy to
care.
This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at
soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their
kids asked, "Did you see my goal?" they could say, "Of course,
wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.
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."
This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't find
their children.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the
mothers who took those babies and made them homes.
For all the mothers of the victims of the Colorado shooting, 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.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween
costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.
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 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 school shooting, a
fire, a car accident, a baby dying? I think so.
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. Who yell at their kids in the
grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2 year
old who wants ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their
shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for
Velcro instead.
For all the mothers who bite their lips-sometimes until they bleed-when
their 14 year olds dye their hair green.
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 purse.
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 at home.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's
graves.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the
words to reach them.
This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomach
aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls
from the school nurse and hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right
away.
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.
Author Unknown
Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born.
One day he asked God: "They tell me you are sending me to earth
tomorrow, how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?"
GOD replied, "Among the many angels, I chose one for you. She will be
waiting for you and will take care of you."
"But tell me, here in Heaven, I don't do anything else but sing and
smile, that's enough for me to be happy."
"Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you every day.
And you will feel your angel's love and be happy."
"And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me,
if I don't know the language that men talk?"
"Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will
ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to
speak."
"And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?"
"Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to
pray."
"I've heard that on earth there are bad men. Who will protect
me?"
"Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life."
"But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore."
"Your angel will always talk to you about me and will teach you the
way for you to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you."
At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from earth could
already be heard.
And the child in a hurry asked softly: "Oh God, if I am about to leave
now, please tell me my angel's name."
"Your angel's name is of no importance, you will call your angel:
'Mommy'."
Author Unknown
Real Mothers don't eat quiche; they don't have time to make it.
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.
Real Mothers know that dried playdough doesn't come out of shag carpets.
Real Mothers don't want to know what the vacuum just sucked up.
Real Mothers sometimes ask "why me?" and get their answer when a
little voice says, "because I love you best".
Real Mothers know that a child's growth is not measured by height or years or
grade . . . it is marked by the progression of Mama to Mommy to Mom.
Author Unknown
M - O - T - H - E - R
"M" is for the million things she gave me,
"O" means only that she's growing old,
"T" is for the tears she shed to save me,
"H" is for her heart of purest gold;
"E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
"R" means right, and right she'll always be,
Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER,"
A word that means the world to me.
Howard Johnson (circa 1915)
Why Mothers Cry
Why are you crying?" he asked his mom.
"Because I'm a mother," she told him.
"I don't understand," he said.
His mom just hugged him and said, "You never will!"
Later the little boy asked his father why Mother seemed to cry for no reason.
"All mothers cry for no reason," was all his dad could say.
The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why mothers cry.
So he finally put in a call to God and when God got on the phone the man said,
"God, why do mothers cry so easily."
God said, "You see son, when I made mothers they had to be special. I made
their shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet gentle
enough to give comfort. I gave them an inner strength to endure childbirth and
the rejection that many times come from their children. "I gave them a
hardiness that allows them to keep going when everyone else gives up, and to
take care of their families through sickness and fatigue without complaining.
"I gave them the sensitivity to love their children under all
circumstances, even when their child has hurt them very badly. This same
sensitivity helps them to make a child's boo-boo feel better and helps them
share a teenager's anxieties and fears.
"I gave them a tear to shed. It's theirs exclusively to use whenever it's
needed. It's their only weakness. It's a tear for mankind."
Author Unknown
Gone But Not Forgotten
Don't think of her as gone away
Her journey's just begun
Life holds so many facets
This earth is only one
Just think of her as resting
From the sorrows and the tears
In a place of warmth and comfort
Where there are no days and years
Think how she must be wishing
That we could know, today
Now nothing but our sadness
Can really pass away
And think of her as living
In the hearts of those she touched
For nothing loved is ever lost
And she is loved so very much
Anonymous