I've watched as the last two days have gone by with many many wishes for a 'happy mothers' day to everyone. I agree..I hope you've had a very happy one, but now that the day is drawing to an end, here is something I want you to think about as your eyes close tonight. Mothers Day is everyday.
Each and every day be thankful you're a mother.
Enjoy the simple pleasures with your children, like reading a book as they cuddle in your lap or the softness of their hair while you rock them. See the delight in you child for something as simple as a hug or playful tickle.
The tears they shed or the hurts they have bring them running to your protective embrace, be grateful for that. You are their hero, and heros are a precious commodity.
There will come a day when you will no longer hold the status of protector or hero, it will last for many years. You'll let them make mistakes because you love them and no matter how much you wish you could stop them, you won't be able to. It takes the experience of a mistake to learn.
As they grow through life and learn, your status will rise again, when they come to see what it takes to raise a child as they begin dealing with their own. They too will put on the same shoes you wore and become their childs hero, just for a little while.
Everyday is Mothers day and Fathers day for that matter. Everyday be grateful you're a parent. Don't pass up these precious years, they'll be a long time before coming around again in Grandchildren.
Many years ago my sister wrote a poem about her son when he was about 4. He'll be 44 this year. It seemed it was decades later, I learned to cross stitch and still had a copy of that poem. She had forgotten all about it. I cross stitched it for her and it still hangs in her living room today. It's a beautiful poem and represents the sentiment of the above statement very well.
Have a look yourself.
My Son
There he stands so big and tall,
but not long ago he was so small
Running with a football in his hand saying
"Mom some day I'm gonna be a man."
He tries so hard to fit in
but it seems his head is always in a spin.
He has long blonde hair and dark blue
eyes, and just one look makes my heart
cry. To think he'll grow up and go away
no matter how hard I wish he'd stay.
Up to bed behind old sleepy head
A pillow in his hand a blanket under
his arm, he will always be my most
precious charm.
Wanda Buchanan Bennett 1971
