Tribute to Moms

This is for all mothers who froze 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 said " Of course, wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And to the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew costumes. And all the mothes who DON'T.

What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, fry a chicken, 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?

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.

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 purses.

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 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 the mothers who put pinwheels and teddu bears on their children's graves.

This is for the mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.

This is for all the motherswho sent their sons back 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. Mother with money, mothers without.


-- Cindy Lange-Kubick Lincoln Journal Star