Thank You.

I had the best mothers day ever. Thanks Honey! (*waving) The whole entire day was about me... just like any spoiled - last - child - only - daughter - all - grown - up could want it to be!

But I did have a few moments for pause. At church our pastor was talking about how the day was for honoring mothers - the one's that loved us so much and took such good care of us and yadda yadda yadda. I couldn't help but think about the mothers that weren't that way. The mothers who hit and yell, who ignore and forget and who withold love and tenderness. I thought about the mothers I've worked with who had been so poorly mothered that they didn't even know where to begin with their own babies. My son gave me a lovely poem that made me cry. It was beautiful but made me think about all kids out there who don't have moms worth honoring. How hard it would be to sit and listen to a prayer about moms. I also thought about all the things I've done that are not honorable. The times I said what I shouldn't have or didn't do what I should have. The times I let the computer suck me in when I should've read one more story, the times I've let housework take a priority to a bored and restless child on a rainy day. I thought about the times my patience was gone and my last shred of dignity and maturity had snapped and I'd stomped my feet and screamed til my throat hurt at people who were 3 feet tall and gazed at me with fear and bewilderment. I could go on. I really could. I am not a poster child for Worlds Best Mom. I could be a fine example of what not to do, on the other hand. But I also know that when taken down to the barest bones, dusted off the dirty parts and polished up the remains, I am a decent mom. My kids know, without a doubt, that I love them and that I will always love them and that I put them first when it counts. They know their secrets are safe with me and that they can share their hearts without reservation. I will listen. They know they can trust me to do right and to keep them safe. My kids are healthy and whole and I am a BEAR who will roar when they are threatened. So, while I may not be a great mom, I am a good enough mom. A good enough mom with great kids!

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football games Friday night instead of watching from warm 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 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, and the mothers of Katrina whose babies were swept away. 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. 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, 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 kidnapping? So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mother 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. And for the mothers who counted to 10 and realized how child abuse starts. 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. 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 off spring are at home or away at college. 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 stomachaches 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 with out. This is for you all.