Mothers

Since it is Mother's Day on Sunday I felt it appropriate to write a little lesson type thing about mothers.

Everything Mom

How did you find the energy, Mom
To do all the things you did,
To be teacher, nurse and counselor
To me, when I was a kid.

How did you do it all, Mom,
Be a chauffeur, cook and friend,
Yet find time to be a playmate,
I just can’t comprehend.

I see now it was love, Mom
That made you come whenever I'd call,
Your inexhaustible love, Mom
And I thank you for it all.

My Miracle Mother
Mom, I look at you
and see a walking miracle.
Your unfailing love without limit,
your ability to soothe my every hurt,
the way you are on duty, unselfishly,
every hour, every day,
makes me so grateful
that I am yours, and you are mine.
With open arms and open heart,
with enduring patience and inner strength,
you gave so much for me,
sometimes at your expense.
You are my teacher,
my comforter, my encourager,
appreciating all, forgiving all.
Sometimes I took you for granted, Mom,
but I don’t now, and I never will again.
I know that everything I am today
relates to you and your loving care.
I gaze in wonder
as I watch you being you—
my miracle, my mother.

Sometimes we take our mothers for granted. They are always there and we never can fully thank them for that their unconditional love to comfort us when we are hurt, their unselfishness clean up after our mess from breakfast or take us to school when it is raining, their eagerness to see us excel in everything is always there and to teach us what we need to. Mothers are always there to get us through another day.
On Tuesday I had to stay after school, I had a meeting about my eagle, I had to write up my eagle, I had to write a story in Spanish, and hike up half the mountain and when I finally had time late into the night my dad asked my mom if she was going to go to bed. And she kindly replied and said that she is going to stay up and help me with my homework. I just thought that she would sacrifice her sleep to help me. Our mothers do all these things and sometimes we forget to just say thank you and show appreciation for what they do day in and day out. I know when I do something for somebody it makes it all worthwhile if they say thank you for the act of service I just gave them. Our mothers are no different they deserve a thank you for all the kindness and service they give us constantly. In the dictionary the definition of respect is giving a sense of the worth or excellence of a person, a personal quality or ability, or something considered as a manifestation of a personal quality or ability. We need to show our respect to our mothers all the time whether it is a simple act of kindness like taking us to school. They are always there when we need the most. I found this story by Rebecca Burgoyne that illustrates how much love our mothers give us constantly.

As I stare into the bathroom mirror each morning at the beginning of a new day, I resolve to follow an example that was set for me long ago. In fact, glancing into any mirror takes me back years to one childish incident that has helped shape my entire life.
It was a Monday morning—but one that was a little more hectic than usual. I had slept in half an hour late. I couldn’t find the clothes I wanted to wear, and the hairdo I had tried to copy from Seventeen magazine for the month of November was (to say the least) not too attractive on me. My mother informed me in the midst of my frustrations that if I missed the bus I would be walking to school. But the real clincher was the announcement that I would not be allowed to leave until I made my bed and vacuumed my room.
As a 13-year-old, I had a difficult time coping with all of this responsibility. I flatly told my mother I was sorry, but I had more important things to do. Unfortunately, my mother does not accept refusals, and so I began a tirade of excuses, listing every unappreciated task I had ever carried out since age five. As the tears of anger and frustration slid down my cheeks, my temper mounted. Knowing I couldn’t win this argument, I ran to the bathroom, locked the door, and pouted.
Sitting on the edge of the counter, knowing I had missed the bus, and knowing I would be walking to school, my anger boiled over. I grabbed a bright red tube of lipstick that was lying in the open drawer and viciously scrawled the words “I hate you” across the mirror. Feeling I had avenged my hurt, I snuck out of the bathroom, grabbed my books, and trudged on to school through the autumn leaves.
All day long, the guilt and shame I felt at writing those words ate at me like acid. How could I have possibly told my mother that I hated her? I knew I loved her and hadn’t meant those words written in such haste. But what about my mother? Did she know that? Could she love me at all after what I had done?
Dragging my feet on the way home from the bus stop at the end of the street, I dreaded facing my mother. Quietly creeping through the back door, I snuck into the bathroom so I could wipe the lipstick off the glass. There I saw a neatly printed sentence right below mine. It too was done in bright red. As I stared at it, the words flooded my mind with new insight and understanding. “I love you” stared at me from the mirror, and in that one reflective moment I realized that no matter what I did my mother would always love me.