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, “It’s 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.
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, so 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.
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.
This is for all the step-mothers who raised another woman’s child or children, and gave their time, attention, and love… sometimes totally unappreciated!
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 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 panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in your home? Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear 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 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. “Home is what catches you when you fall – and we all fall.”
Apparently Ontario has been slow to change the curriculum surrounding sex education (last update was in 1998) compared to the other provinces in Canada. I applaud the changes. They are a reflection of the way things are in 2015.
Not everyone is happy; people are protesting; parents, politicians, and religious representatives are opposed to the schools teaching our children about sex in 2015. I’m a little confused. I don’t understand what they think will happen to our children – because they learn about homosexuality, will they “become” gay? if they (more…)
This little boy is 3 year old, Elijah Marsh
Here is a security camera picture of Elijah leaving his apartment in the early hours, clad only in a diaper, a t-shirt and boots…
This little boy, his parents, his extended family, and my own family have been in my thoughts and prayers since the tragic story came out last week in Toronto, Canada. I knew that I wanted to write about him…but I couldn’t decide what to write. Little Elijah was a typical little boy, described as somewhat shy – his story ended in tragedy, he was found hours after this picture was captured, curled up in a back yard some 300 metres from his home.
As a mother, my heart hurts for Elijah’s mother, Georgette…I am angered at people who have posted hurtful suggestions that bad parenting is the reason for this tragedy. I want to write to those insensitive people, I want to write about my own experiences as a mother who has had both of my sons “go missing” for that split second, I want to write about how grateful I am that my own story did not end in tragedy, I want to write about grief, I want to write about gratitude, I want to write about the compassion that steered another father to set up a fund for Elijah’s family that has now raised over $150,000, I want to write about WHY WHY…why does this have to happen…In the end, I think that the answer to what I want to write about is that I really just want to share this story and hopefully everyone who reads it, will have their own personal reaction.
Please read about a little 3 year old boy, who really could be any one of our own children – Elijah