A Tribute to Mothers
To you from Cathy
Just a Mom
From an Associate Research Assistant!!!
2007
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." Motherhood!
What a glorious career!
Especially when there's a title on the door.
Does this make grandmothers
"Senior Research associates in the field of
Child Development and Human Relations"
and great grandmothers
"Executive Senior Research Associates"?
I think so!!!
I also think it makes Aunts
"Associate Research Assistants".
Click here for a special tribute to Mom
. . . .
BEFORE I WAS MYSELF YOU MADE ME, ME
Before I was myself you made me, me
With love and patience, discipline and tears,
Then bit by bit stepped back to set me free,
Allowing me to sail upon my sea,
Though well within the headlands of your fears.
Before I was myself you made me, me
With dreams enough of what I was to be
And hopes that would be sculpted by the years,
Then bit by bit stepped back to set me free,
Relinquishing your powers gradually
To let me shape myself among my peers.
Before I was myself you made me, me,
And being good and wise, you gracefully
As dancers when the last sweet cadence nears
Bit by bit stepped back to set me free.
For love inspires learning naturally:
The mind assents to what the heart reveres.
And so it was through love you made me, me
By slowly stepping back to set me free.
MEAN MOMS
Someday when my children are old enough to
understand the logic that motivates a parent, I will
tell them, as my Mean Mom told me : I loved you
enough . . . to ask where you were going, with whom,
and what time you would be home.
I loved you enough to be silent and let you
discover that your new best friend was a creep.
I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours
while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.
I loved you enough to let you see anger,
disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must
learn that their parents aren't perfect.
I loved you enough to let you assume the
responsibility for your actions even when the
penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.
But most of all, I loved you enough . . to say
NO when I knew you would hate me for it.
Those were the most difficult battles of all. I'm
glad I won them, because in the end you won, too.
And someday when your children are old enough to
understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them.
Was your Mom mean? I know mine was. We had the
meanest mother in the whole world! While other kids
ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.
When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches.
And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was
different from what other kids had, too.
Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all
times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison. She
had to know who our friends were, and what we were
doing with them. She insisted that if we said we
would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.
We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve
to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work.
We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to
cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash
and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie
awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.
She always insisted on us telling the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time
we were teenagers, she could read our minds and had
eyes in the back of her head. Then, life was really tough!
Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn
when they drove up. They had to come up to the door
so she could meet them. While everyone else could
date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.
Because of our mother we missed out on lots of
things other kids experienced. None of us have ever
been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's
property or ever arrested for any crime. It was all her fault.
Now that we have left home, we are all educated,
honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean
parents just like Mom was.
I think that is what's wrong with the world today.
It just doesn't have enough mean moms!
FOR MOM
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
Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.
This 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.
And 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.
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery
store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice
cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead,
but realize how child abuse happens.
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.
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 ~or have their own families.
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.
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14
year olds dye their hair green.
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...
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.
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 and never stop being a mom..
'Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall.'
His Abundant Blessings
to You This Mother's Day.
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