to wish all moms a Happy Mother's Day for Sunday! I'm also blowing kisses up to heaven for my mom, and all other moms who are gone from here, but never from our hearts. Peekaboo
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL OF YOU! :grouphug: This is for 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, "its okay honey, Mommy's here." Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted. 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. This is 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 the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors. And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars. And that when their kids asked, "Did you see me, Mom?" 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 and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens. This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just couldn't find the words. This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat. 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 every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home -- or even away at college -- or have their own families. 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 until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green. For all the mothers of the victims of recent 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 all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war. 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 in her heart? Is it the ache she feels when she watches her son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time? The jolt that takes her from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put her hand on the back of a sleeping baby? The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when she just wants to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in her home? Or the need to flee from wherever she is and hug her child when she hears news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying? The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are 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. For all of us... Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we can. Tell them every day that we love them. And pray. And never stop being a mother... Please pass along to all the mothers in your life. "Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall." Please pass this to all the wonderful mothers you know. (I just did)
Should have put a warning in front of it, crying at my desk can be hard to explain but it is beautiful and thank you for sharing.
Ok, get out your Kleenex - here's another good one: God, it is mothers’ day. And so we think about mothers and we think about children. We think about others and we think about ourselves. God, we pray for new mothers: women who are today celebrating their first mother’s day. Be near to new mothers. May they know the joy of precious moments with their babies as well as your strength and sustaining amid the interrupted sleep and constant demands. God, we pray for mothers who have lost a child. Through miscarriage or death Through adoption Through abortion Through the breakdown of a relationship. Be near to those mothers May they know a growing sense of hope, love, joy and peace as well as your strength and sustaining amid their sadness and pain. God, we pray for mothers who long for a better relationship with their child May you help them do all they can to heal rifts, Whilst realising that it is not only their responsibility. Help them to reach out and to let go appropriately. We pray for women who parent alone Thank you for their courage Sustain them as they seek to be both mother and father to their precious children. Place others alongside them to help and encourage them. We pray for women who long to be mothers Comfort them, heal them, sustain them, be near them. We pray for babies for them, in your time. We pray for all mothers Give them an ever-growing love for their children. Help them enable their children to grow and develop Give them courage and grace as relationships change God, we thank you for our mothers For the women who bore us and birthed us For the women who fed us and cared for us For the women who loved us and disciplined us. Some of us find it easy to thank our Mums for all they have done for us Some of us wish we could speak words to mothers we no longer have. Comfort those who mourn Give courage and strength to those who need it Grant us all an appreciation of those who have “mothered us” appropriately be they birth mothers, adoptive mothers, dear friends or others. http://www.emergentkiwi.org.nz/lynne/archives/001443.php
I have been listening to the song "In My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride some recently, and it makes me cry. Here are the lyrics. In my daughter's eyes I am a hero I am strong and wise and I know no fear But the truth is plain to see She was sent to rescue me I see who I wanna be In my daughter's eyes In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace This miracle God gave to me gives me strength when I am weak I find reason to believe In my daughter's eyes And when she wraps her hand around my finger Oh it puts a smile in my heart Everything becomes a little clearer I realize what life is all about It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough It's giving more when you feel like giving up I've seen the light It's in my daughter's eyes In my daughter's eyes I can see the future A reflection of who I am and what will be Though she'll grow and someday leave Maybe raise a family When I'm gone I hope you see how happy she made me For I'll be there In my daughter's eyes
We are trying to make this mom's day really special for my mom. She has been through hell with her health. We hope we have many more Mother's Days with her.
I couldn't read those poems, been crying enough today...My best friend's mom passed away suddenly yesterday, so I spent the morning with her crying, then my son's school had a luncheon for moms that made me cry. And I was talking about him going to kindergarten next year and that almost got me crying...what an emotional day!
Happy Mothers Day to all the mommy's out there! Happy Mothers Day to all the mommy's of 4-legged, furry, feathered or scaley children too!! :cheers:
I'm invisible..... It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Pick me up right around 5:30, please."! I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going. she's going. she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a ! book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she' d given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees." I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become." At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built! in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand-bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there." As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
