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

This is also for the mothers who
had to comfort their children
who didn't make the team.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up
all night with sick toddlers in their arms,
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 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 TV's 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 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 and 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 the mothers who make
sure their kids have new shoes
and jackets even when they don't.

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 mothers who are so
dedicated to their children with
special needs when the rest of
us don't know how they do it.

This is for foster mothers who
fill in whenever and however needed.

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.
You may not be an official
"Mother of the Year",
but your love and devotion to your
children matters every day!

"Home is what catches you when you fall"