A good friend of mine – an Australian writer – forwarded this poem to me. It reminds me that there are so many ways to be a mother – so many ways to be a great mother. I have a great mother. I am a great mother. Each of us is incurably imperfect.

But we’re striving to be the best mothers we can be.

On Pass the Torch, I tend to write about the good days — the events and parts of motherhood I’m proud to admit. I don’t share as much about the disappointments, the struggles, the arguments and fears. But they exist. Every day. They do for everyone, I’m sure.

We’re all imperfect beings muddling through our lives in the best ways we can. We each come with our own set of baggage, our own history, and our own potential. My goal is to be the best mom I can be, with the life God gave me – to come to terms with the fact that even though the reality of motherhood may never be exactly the way I picture the ideal, it can be great, in ways I may never have considered. I just need to regularly remind myself that the ways I screw up daily, aren’t as important as the things I do well.

How are you a great mother?

MOTHERS
(Author unknown, my modifications in italic)

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, “It’s okay honey, Mommy’s here.”

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can’t be comforted.

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 purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew May Day costumes. And all the mothers who DON’T.

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 the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.
And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars, so that when their kids asked, “Did you see me, Mom?” they could say, “Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” and mean it.

For the mother that drags her child all over the country to compete in horseshows, because that’s the child’s passion.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the (grand) mothers who wanted to, but just couldn’t find the words.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.

For all the mothers who read “Goodnight, Moon” twice a night for a year. And then read it again. “Just one more time.”

This is for all the mothers who taught their children 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 teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

For mothers that encourage. And mothers that nag.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls “Mom?” in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home — or even away at college.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids 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 mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to reach them. And for the mothers who apologize when they’re in the wrong, because they want to save the relationship.

This is for all the step-mothers who raised another woman’s child or children, and gave their time, attention, and love… sometimes totally unappreciated!

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14-year-olds dye their hair green. And those who sing the alphabet as they drive late into the night to get to their travel destination.

For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting.
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.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.

What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it in her heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter 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? The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in your home? Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation…
For mothers learning to like their children, as well as love them.
And mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.
And mothers who become grandmothers who scrape together a little cash for a Christmas gift.
Homeschooling mothers, and those whose kids go to traditional school.
This is for you all. For all of us. Hang in there.
In the end we can only do the best we can.
Tell them every day that we love them.
And pray.

Please pass along to all the Moms in your life.
“Home is what catches you when you fall – and we all fall.”

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