May 13: On Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms in my life: my own mother, who has keenly demonstrated the importance of following one's heart; my sister, who is raising two amazing boys and is always willing to share ideas without being big-sister bossy; my mother-in-law, who has an infinite amount of patience and love for her family (and--thank god--is nothing like the ogrish MIL of legends!); my friends, many of them in the early stages of mom-ness like me, who are sounding boards and much-needed sympathetic ears; and my friends' moms, who have blessed my life by making some of the most fabulous people on this planet. Thank you! I love you all, and am proud to have such strong women in my life.

--Jen

---

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up spit-up laced with hot dogs, birthday cake and fruit juice saying, "It's OK, honey, Mommy's here."

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 because they are busy working to put food on the table.

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 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 mothers who have tearfully placed flowers and teddy bears on their children's graves. Whose children have died from illness, accidents and the worst of all and hardest to comprehend, suicides.

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 taught their sons to cook and sew and their daughters to be brave and strong. (And 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 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?

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. Grandmothers whose wisdom and love remains a constant for their grown children and their children's children.

--Author unknown