This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Meyer 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, binkies in their pockets 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 all 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, track meets or soccer games Friday nights 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 mean it.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet like a tired 2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.
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 the 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 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 called 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 bit their lips sometimes until they bled when their 14 year old dyes 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 on a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it the 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 victims of all these school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TV's 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 for 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.
Please pass along to all the Mom's in your life. "Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall."
Please pass this to a wonderful mother you know.
(I just did)
