Onnie's Blog

Apr. 22, 2008 - In Light of Mother's Day

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 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. 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 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.

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 she feels when she watches her son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes her from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put her hand on the back of a sleeping baby?
The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when she just wants to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in her home? Or the need to flee from wherever she is and hug her child when she hears 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 for 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 mother...

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Feb. 13, 2008 - Before I Was A Mom

Before I was a Mom I made and ate hot meals.
I had unstained clothing.
I had quiet conversations on the phone.

Before I was a Mom I slept as late as I wanted.
And never worried about how late I got into bed.
I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday.

Before I was Mom I cleaned my house each day.
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to lullabies.

Before I was a Mom I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom I had never been puked on, pooped on, spit on, peed on, or pinched by tiny fingers.
Before I was a Mom I had complete control of my mind, my thoughts, my body and all my feelings.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom I never held down a screaming child so that doctors could do tests or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put it down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a Mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so important.

Before I was a Mom I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was OK.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache or the satisfaction of being a Mom.

I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much......
......before I was a Mom.

...Author Unknown

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Feb. 13, 2008 - A Parent's Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray my sanity to keep.
For if some peace I do not find,
I'm pretty sure I'll lose my mind.

I pray I find a little quiet
Far from the daily family riot
May I lie back--not have to think
about what they're stuffing down the sink, or who they're with, or where they're at and what they're doing to the cat.

I pray for time all to myself
(did something just fall off a shelf?)
To cuddle in my nice, soft bed
(Oh no, another goldfish--dead!)

Some silent moments for goodness sake
(Did I just hear a window break?)
And that I need not cook or clean--
(well heck, I've got the right to dream)

Yes now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray my wits about me keep,
But as I look around I know--
I must have lost them long ago!

Author unknown

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Feb. 13, 2008 - The Images of Mother

4 YEARS OF AGE
My Mommy can do anything!
8 YEARS OF AGE
My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!
12 YEARS OF AGE
My Mother doesn't really know quite everything.
14 YEARS OF AGE
Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either.
16 YEARS OF AGE
Mother? She's hopelessly old-fashioned.
18 YEARS OF AGE
That old woman? She's way out of date!
25 YEARS OF AGE
Well, she might know a little bit about it.
35 YEARS OF AGE
Before we decide, let's get Mom's opinion.
45 YEARS OF AGE
Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?
65 YEARS OF AGE
Wish I could talk it over with Mom.....

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Feb. 13, 2008 - To My Child...

Just for this morning . . . . .
I am going to smile when I see your face and laugh when I feel like crying.
Just for this morning . . . . .
I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is.

Just for this morning . . . . .
I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning . . . . .
I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.

Just for this afternoon . . . . .
I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.

Just for this afternoon . . . . .
I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon . . . . .
I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon . . . . .
I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.

Just for this afternoon . . . . .
I will take us to Mc Donald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening . . . . .
I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you.

Just for this evening . . . . .
I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening . . . . .
I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening . . . . .
I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss my favorite TV shows.

Just for this evening . . . .
When I run my finger through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given. I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for their missing children, the mothers and fathers who are visiting
their children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside they can't handle it anymore.

And when I kiss you goodnight I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer.

It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask him for nothing, except one more day .............

Author unknown

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