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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 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 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. 
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 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"
Used with permission.  Bruce DeBoar