She is a Mother.
When we first met, we realized that there were quite a few years of living separating us so we did the math and then realized, in horror, that her own mother and I were exactly the same age. We became friends a few years before anyone called her “mom” and since then, she has added four little Peeps to her life who do. They are her reason for being in much the same way that most kids are to most mothers. At least the mothers I know.
She is wise and funny and fierce, which is why I adore her. She is part Yoda and part Pit Bull, and she has chewed up and spit out more school administrators and case workers and teachers than anyone I’ve ever met. When it comes to the welfare of children, all children, there are no “somedays” or “maybes” or “mights.” There is only NOW. There is only DO.
She is a force to be reckoned with and she gets stuff done. And it isn’t always pretty.
She is a foster-mother. The type of person who gets a call from a social worker who needs a safe place for a child and says, “what time will you be here?” instead of “let me think about it.”
She believes that when it comes to a child who needs a loving, stable home for a night or a life time, there’s very little to consider.
It is Mother’s Day this coming Sunday. And so…..
To the young moms and the old moms and all the moms in between…the poor moms and privileged ones…the moms who work both in, and outside their homes….the ones who do it by choice, and chance….the women who raise the grandchildren and nieces and nephews who call them “mom” as well as the ones who grieve for children they’ve lost…Happy Mother’s Day.
To the moms with a child in the military…the moms who stay awake all night in homeless shelters and the moms in refugee camps throughout the world… Happy Mother’s Day.
To the moms who go hungry so their children can eat, and the moms who wear second-hand clothes so their children don’t…the serious moms and the goofy moms…the musical moms and the soccer moms and the dance moms….the moms who wake in the night to check insulin levels…and the ones who make a conscious choice NOT to become mothers but lovingly teach the children of other mothers….Happy Mother’s Day.
To the moms who spank when they’d rather hug, and the moms who hug when they’d rather spank…and the moms who spend the bulk of their lives doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning up after other people with very little thanks….as well as the moms who have other, better paying careers than that…Happy Mother’s Day.
To the moms who lovingly welcome their child’s same-sex partner and the moms who plan weddings for their children that they’d prefer not to have to attend at all….the moms who make their kids go to church every Sunday and moms who don’t…Happy Mother’s Day.
To my mom, my aunt, my husband’s mom, and the moms of my friends…Happy Mother’s Day.
To the foster moms like my friend, Yoda….Happy Mother’s Day.
And finally, most of all, to the two women in South Korea I never met who trusted, without proof, that the universe would take care of the sweet babies they labored to bring into the world…the babies I’ve raised to adulthood who will send me flowers this weekend….and call me to tell me they love me…Happy Mother’s Day.
Happy, Happy Mother’s Day.