For All Mothers
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."
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 purse.
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 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
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
when a little voice calls "Mom?"
in a crowd, even
though they know their own
off spring are 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.
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 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 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 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.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all.
May God bless you!
~ author unknown ~
Music "In The Garden"