MOTHER'S DAY

BEFORE I WAS A MOM

Before I was a Mom,
I made and ate hot meals.
I had unstained clothing.
I had quiet conversations on the phone.

Before I was a Mom,
I slept as late as I wanted
and never worried about how late I got into bed.
I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday.

Before I was Mom
I cleaned my house each day.
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to lullabies.

Before I was a Mom
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom
I had never been puked on, pooped on,
spit on, chewed on, peed on,
or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a Mom
I had complete control of my mind
my thoughts and my body. I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom
I never held down a screaming child
so that doctors could do tests or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours
at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom
I never held a sleeping baby
just because I didn't want to put it down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special
it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a Mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important.

Before I was a Mom
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love,
the heartache, the wonderment,
or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much
...Before I was a Mom.
Author Unknown

MOTHERS: EVERY YEAR IS THEIR YEAR

This is for all the mothers who DIDN'T win
Mother of the Year in 1999.
All the runners-up and all the wannabes.
The mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off
on metal bleachers at soccer games
Friday night instead of watching from cars,
so that when their kids asked,
"Did you see my goal?"
they could say "
Of course, wouldn't have missed it
for the world," and mean it.

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."

This is for all the mothers of Kosovo
who fled in the night and
can't find their children.

This is for the mothers
who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those
babies and made them homes.

For all the mothers who run carpools
and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.

And all the mothers who DON'T.

What makes a good mother anyway?
Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, fry a chicken,
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
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 school shooting,
a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?

I think so.

So 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.

This is for reading
"Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year.
And then reading it again.
"Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who mess up.
Who yell at their kids in the grocery store
and swat them in despair and stomp their feet
like a tired 2 year old
who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers
who taught their daughters
to tie their shoelaces
before they started school.

And for all the mothers
who opted for Velcro instead.
For all the mothers who bite their lips
-- sometimes until they bleed--
when their 14 year olds
dye their hair green.

Who lock themselves in the bathroom
when babies 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.

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 offspring are at home.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels
and teddy bears on their children's graves.

This is for mothers
whose children have gone astray,
who can't find the words to reach them.

This is for all the mothers
who sent their sons 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 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. So hang in there.

Better luck next year,
I'll be rooting for you.
Author Unknown

This is a song I learned from my mother
when I was a very young girl...
I still remember her singing it to me.

****M-O-T-H-E-R****

M- is for the million things she gave me,
O-means only that she's growing old.
T-is for the tears she shed to save me,
H-is for her heart of purest gold.
E-is for her eyes with lovelight shining,
R-means right and right she'll always be.
Put them all together, they spell MOTHER,
A word that means the world to me.

To My Children On Mother's Day

To me my darling children,
All days are Mother's Day.
For always you show love to me,
In many different ways.

Your smiles and laughter bring me joy.
Your singing fills my heart.
The little things you do for me,
Sometimes, make joy tears start.

So, children, thank you always,
For making my heart gay.
If not for you, my loved ones;
I'd have no "Mother's Day."

Copyright Clara Scarberry

When a Mother Blows Out 75 Candles


She secretly hopes a tank of oxygen is one of her gifts.
Through the years she has hollered, said and prayed,
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, grant me patience!" 1,245,187 times.
Her hands have hung diapers on pulley clotheslines, sterilized bottles, carried babies from the third-floor apartment, ironed sunsuits and proudly pushed baby buggies. She has peeled more potatoes than six marines on K.P. duty.

Her hair has been set in steel curlers, permed, rinsed with Nestle's coloring capsules, and styled in pageboys, the poodle look and the beehive hairdo; been permed again and turned silver.

The "parlor" was where she entertained company, the "pantry" held the groceries, the "icebox" held a pint of ice cream, and the "wringer washing machine" was hers to use on Tuesday.

She has earned her nursing degree through measles, chicken pox, mumps, pneumonia, polio, TB, fevers, stitches, flu, fractured arms and broken hearts.

At one time or another her closet held housedresses, feathered hats, white gloves, skirts with short hemlines and with long hemlines, pants suits, billowy dresses of chiffon, sheath dresses, a Sunday coat and the Christmas toys she ordered from the Sears catalog.

Her heart has known the ecstasy of a man's love, the joy of children, the heartbreak of their mistakes, the warmth of life's friendships, the celebration of weddings, the magnificent blessings of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Who can count the floors she scrubbed, the dinners she cooked, the birthday gifts she wrapped, the spelling words she listened to, the bedtime stories she read, the excuses she heard, the prayers she whispered to God each day?

Her arms have rocked generations of babies. Her hands have prepared countless "favorite" dishes. Her knees have knelt in prayer time and time again for those she loved. Her mouth has kissed owwies that hurt. Her back has bent to bathe dirty cowboys, pick up teens' clothes, gather flowers from her garden and grow old.

She has journeyed through life with its tears and laughter, watching yesterday's sunsets become tomorrow's sunrises of hope and promise. Because of her and the man who took her hand, family life and love continue through the generations.

When a mother blows out 75 candles, blessed are they who surround her with their love.

By Alice Collins
Submitted by Geraldine Doyle
From Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul