This is for all the mothers who DIDN'T win Mother of the Year in 1999,
 all the runners-up and all the wannabes,
 all those too tired to enter or too busy to care.

 This is for all the mothers who freeze their you know what on metal bleachers
 instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids ask, "Did you see
 my goal?"  they can say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for
the world."

 This is for every mother who ever sat up all night with a sick toddler
 in her arms, wiping the child at both ends, while saying,  "It's
okay honey, Mommy's here."

 This is for all the mothers of the victims of our nation's school
 shootings, 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.

 It's for all the mothers who run carpools and bake cookies and sew
Hallowe'en costumes.  AND, it's for all the mothers who DON'T.

 What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
 The ability to nurse, cook dinner and sew on a button all at the same time?
 Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your child
 disappear  down the street, walking to school alone for the first time?
Is it 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.  Those who yell at their kids in
 the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like tired
 three-year-olds who want ice cream before dinner.

 This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie shoelaces
 before they started school.  And for all the mothers who opted
 for Velcro instead.

 It's for all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed--
 when their 14 year-olds dye their hair green, pierce body parts and
ask for contraceptives.

 This is for all the mothers 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 purses.

 This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their
 daughters to sink a jumpshot.

 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 not with them.

 This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's
 graves.

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

 This is for mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep
 deprivation.  And 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 the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
 And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

 This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't
 find their children.

 This is for you all.  So hang in there. The world would be a
terrible place without you.
 

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