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
 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 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.
  HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!
   (Author unknown)