I searched and searched for just the right poem to read on Mother's Day,
But all seemed so impersonal and just did not express what I really wanted to say.
I'm not that great a poet; rhyme is not my thing,
And to put it to music, everyone knows I can't sing.
So I've come up with my own prose, be it so small,
To answer the fundamental question, "What is a Mommy after all?"
A Mommy from my perspective is a 1001 different things--
Or is it rather a Mommy must do each day a 1001 different things?
Underneath her blouse is hidden a big letter "S"--
Now does that stand for SuperMom, SuperCaring, or SuperTired (or maybe all the above)?
A Mommy can leap over a pile of toys with a single bound,
Wipe a runny nose faster than a speedy toddler,
And with nerves of steel go toe-to-toe with anyone who messes with her kids.
A Mommy cooks, sews, irons, washes dishes, mops floors, changes diapers, dresses the kids,
Takes them to the doctor, shops until she drops, watches Barney for the umpteenth time,
Kisses and mends boo-boos, cleans house, picks up clothes, does the laundry,
Dusts and vacuums, and then by lunch time she's ready to go at it again.
A Mommy does that and more, and yet she finds time for Daddy.
A Mommy is a lighter sleeper than a Daddy,
That's why she always gets up at 2:00 a.m. with a sick child
While Daddy is still fast asleep or pretending to be.
A Mommy is smarter than a Daddy,
That's why a Daddy always tells his child to go ask Mommy.
A Mommy doesn't get paid by the hour,
She gets paid by looking with satisfaction into the eyes of a family God has given her.
A Mommy reads to her children from the most precious Book of all
And tells her children about the most precious Person of all.
A Mommy watches her child take her first step,
And before she can turn around,
She is watching that child take her first step down a wedding aisle. . .
A Mommy knows how to cry a lot.
What would this world be like if God did not give us Mommies?
Children grow up, leave home, start their own families,
Come back to visit for awhile, and always ask for advice.
Yes, children grow up, but Mommies never really do,
Because Mommies are always Mommies.
So I close this little prose with one more bit of rhyme.
To tell you all that a Mommy is I simply don't have the time.
And that's something else special about a Mommy--
She always seems to have the time or take the time,
And how she does it, I will never know!
But to see those little ones grow up full of the love of God, well,
That's worth all the having to get up and go.
So Mommy, I salute you--you really are one of a kind.
Don't worry about falling behind on your housework,
Because your homework is walking behind!
(written in dedication to my wife on Mother's Day, 1994)
