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 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
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
stomachaches, assuring them they'd be just
FINE once they got there,
only to get calls from the school nurse and 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. Please pass along to all
the moms in your life.

"Home is what catches you when we fall - and
we all fall."

-author unknown

We inivite each of you to sign our guestbook.
We would like to know what you are thinking,
how our web site affected you,
what you felt when you read OUR STORY,
and any additional comments you may have.

Thank you, Ginger and Tina