Happy Mother’s Day!

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers out there!  These past few days, it has been sweet to watch my two kids (3 and 5) get so excited about Mother’s Day and plot out what they are going to do for me for Mother’s Day.  I am truly blessed to have two wonderful children who love me unconditionally in spite of all of my shortcomings and truly grateful for the opportunity to be their mother!  I’m also grateful for my own mom who taught me everything I know – I couldn’t have had a better example!

I will be spending the rest of the day enjoying my family and hope you other moms out there are able to do the same!

Here are a few “mom” forwards I have received over the past couple of days that I thought I’d share:

Real Mothers don’t eat quiche; they don’t have time to make it.
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.
Real Mothers know that dried play dough doesn’t come out of carpets.
Real Mothers don’t want to know what the vacuum just sucked up.
Real Mothers sometimes ask ‘Why me?’ and get their answer when a little voice says,
‘Because I love you best.’
Real Mothers know that a child’s growth is not measured by height or years or grade…
It is marked by the progression of Mommy to Mom to Mother…

4 YEARS OF AGE – My Mommy can do anything!
8 YEARS OF AGE – My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!
12 YEARS OF AGE – My Mother doesn’t really know quite everything.
14 YEARS OF AGE – Naturally, Mother doesn’t know that, either.
16 YEARS OF AGE – Mother? She’s hopelessly old fashioned.
18 YEARS OF AGE – That old woman? She’s way out of date!
25 YEARS OF AGE – Well, she might know a little bit about it.
35 YEARS OF AGE – Before we decide, let’s get Mom’s opinion.
45 YEARS OF AGE – Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?
65 YEARS OF AGE – Wish I could talk it over with Mom. (some of us had to deal with this before we even got close to 65, our mothers died too young)

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

A woman, renewing her driver’s license at the County Clerk ‘s office,
was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation.

She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

‘What I mean is, ‘ explained the recorder,
‘do you have a job or are you just a .?’

‘Of course I have a job,’ snapped the woman.

‘I’m a Mom.’

‘We don’t list ‘Mom’ as an occupation,
‘housewife’ covers it,’
Said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.
The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised,
efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like,
‘Official Interrogator’ or ‘Town Registrar.’

‘What is your occupation?’ she probed.

What made me say it? I do not know.
The words simply popped out.
‘I’m a Research Associate in the field of
Child Development and Human Relations.’

The clerk paused, ball -point pen frozen in midair and
looked up as though she had not heard right.

I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words.
Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written,
in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

Might I ask,’ said the clerk with new interest,
‘just what you do in your field?’

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice,
I heard myself reply,
‘I have a continuing program of research,
(what mother doesn’t)
In the laboratory and in the field,
(normally I would have said indoors and out.)
I’m working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family)
and already have four credits (all daughters).
Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities,
(any mother care to disagree?)
and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it).
But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers
and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.’

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as she
completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career,
I was greeted by my lab assistants — ages 13, 7, and 3.
Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model,
(a 6 month old baby) in the child development program,
testing out a new vocal pattern.
I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy!
And I had gone on the official records as someone more
distinguished and indispensable to mankind than ‘just another Mom.’

What a glorious career!
Especially when there’s a title on the door.