DON'T TAKE HER FOR GRANTED

When you came into the world, she held you in her arms.
You thanked her by wailing like a banshee.
When you were 1 year old, she fed you and bathed you.
You thanked her by crying all night long.
When you were 2 years old, she taught you to walk.
You thanked her by running away when she called.
When you were 3 years old, she made all your meals with love.
You thanked her by tossing your plate on the floor.
When you were 4 years old, she gave you some crayons.
You thanked her by coloring the dining room table.
When you were 5 years old, she dressed you for the holidays.
You thanked her by plopping into the nearest pile of mud.
When you were 6 years old, she walked you to school.
You thanked her by screaming; "I'M NOT GOING!"
When you were 7 years old, she bought you a baseball.
You thanked her by throwing it through the next-door-neighbor's window.
When you were 8 years old, she handed you an ice cream.
You thanked her by dripping it all over your lap.
When you were 9 years old, she paid for piano lessons.
You thanked her by never even bothering to practice.
When you were 10 years old, she drove you all day, from soccer to gymnastics to one birthday party after another.
You thanked her by jumping out of the car and never looking back.
When you were 11 years old, she took you and your friends to the movies.
You thanked her by asking to sit in a different row.
When you were 12 years old, she warned you not to watch certain TV shows.
You thanked her by waiting until she left the house. Those teen years
When you were 13, she suggested a haircut that was becoming.
You thanked her by telling her she had no taste.
When you were 14, she paid for a month away at summer camp.
You thanked her by forgetting to write a single letter.
When you were 15, she came home from work, looking for a hug.
You thanked her by having your bedroom door locked.
When you were 16, she taught you how to driver her car.
You thanked her by taking it every chance you could.
When you were 17, she was expecting an important call.
You thanked her by being on the phone all night.
When you were 18, she cried at your high school graduation.
You thanked her by staying out partying until dawn.
When you were 19, she paid your college tuition, drove you to campus, carried your bags.
You thanked her by saying good-bye outside the dorm so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your friends.
When you were 20, she asked whether you were seeing anyone.
You thanked her by saying, "It's none of your business."
When you were 21, she suggested certain careers for your future.
You thanked her by saying, "I don't want to be like you."
When you were 22, she hugged you at your college graduation.
You thanked her by asking whether she could pay for a trip to Europe.
When you were 23, she gave you furniture for your first apartment.
You thanked her by telling your friends it was ugly.
When you were 24, she met your fiancee and asked about your plans for the future.
You thanked her by glaring and growling, "Muuhh-ther, please!"
Growing old and grey.
When you were 25, she helped to pay for your wedding, and she cried and told you how deeply she loved you.
You thanked her by moving halfway across the country.
When you were 30, she called with some advice on the baby.
You thanked her by telling her; "Things are different now."
When you were 40, she called to remind you of a relative's birthday.
You thanked her by saying you were "really busy right now."
When you were 50, she fell ill and needed you to take care of her.
You thanked her by reading about the burden parents become to their children.
Then, one day, she quietly died. And everything you never did came crashing down like thunder.
"Rock me baby, rock me all night long. The hand who rocks the cradle...may rock the world."

Let us take a moment of time just to pay tribute or show appreciation to the person you call MOM though some may not say it openly to their mother.
There's no substitute for her. Cherish every single moment that you can spend with her.
Though at times you may not be the best of friends, she may not agree with all your thoughts, but she is still your mother!
She will always be there for you...to listen to your woes, your bragging, your frustrations, etc.
Ask yourself...
Have you put aside enough time for her, to listen to her "blues" of working in the kitchen, her tiredness?
Is she really well?
Be the adoring, loving child whom she always adored!
And always show her due respect though you may have a different view from hers.
Remember... Once gone, only fond memories of the past and regrets will be left.
Thanks to Carol at Song of Joy for this one.

MOTHERHOOD

It will change your life....
We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family". "We're taking a survey," she says, half joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?" "It will change your life," I say carefully, keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on the weekend, no more spontaneous vacations..."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in child birth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my friend to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonalds will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.
However decisive she may be at the office, she will second guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My friend's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my friend could sense the bond she'll feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.
My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my friend's hand, and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. The blessed gift of God and that of being a Mother.
~Author unknown~
Thank you to my friend Pearl for this lil' pearl of wisdom!
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