This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off at football 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.
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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, Mummy's here."
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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 gave them homes.
For all the mothers of the victims of the Colorado shooting, and the mothers
of the murderers. 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.
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For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween
costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.
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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
school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?
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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.
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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
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.
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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.
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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 nappie's in their purse.
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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 "Mum?" in a crowd, even though
they know their own offspring are at home.
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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.
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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.
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This is for you. So hang in there.