Mother's Day
(Author Unknown)

This is for all the mothers who
didn't win Mother of the Year in 1999.
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 car-pools
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 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
an 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.

This is for you all. So hang in there.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

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