Happiness is Homemade. My blogs are about celebrating life with beautiful quotes, a few stories, a few laughs, some of my own crafts & cards and the mundane issues of everyday life. Having your comments tells me how you feel too. Drop in again.
This is such a sweet poetry. You can use it in scrapbooks or cardmaking or just make a small frame and add this poem in it. It could be used as a fathers day gift or simply for dad’s birthday. Sure to warm his heart. He’ll treasure it on the mantle long after you have left ..
What makes a Dad
God took the strength of a mountain, ~The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun, ~ The calm of a quiet sea, The generous soul of nature, ~ The comforting arm of night, The wisdom of the ages, ~The power of the eagle’s flight, The joy of a morning in spring,~The faith of a mustard seed, The patience of eternity, ~ The depth of a family need, Then God combined these qualities, When there was nothing more to add,He knew His masterpiece was complete, And so, He called it …~ Dad ~
This is for all the mothers who didn’t win Mother of the Year last year.
All the runners-up and all the wannabes. The mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care.
This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, “Did you see my goal?” they could say, “Of course, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, saying, “It’s OK honey, Mommy’s here.”
This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can’t find their children. (And the mothers in Iraq whose children died in bombings).
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see. And the for mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.
For all the mothers of the victims of the Colorado shooting, and the mothers of the murderers. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just arrived safely home from school.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who don’t.
What makes a good mother? 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 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 need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn’t.
This is for reading “Goodnight, Moon” twice a night for a year. And then reading it again, “just one more time.”
This is for all the mothers who aren’t perfect. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2-year-old who wants ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
For all the mothers who bite their lips- sometimes until they bleed- when their 14-year-olds dye their hair green.
This is for all the mothers who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won’t stop.
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.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls “Mom?” in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears- and tears- on their children’s graves.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to reach them.
This is for all the mothers who sent their sons 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 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. So hang in there. The world would be a terrible place without the love of mothers everywhere. You make it a more civil, caring and safe place for the precious children in our world.
I have to share this poem with you. It is so beautiful and really reminded me of where I was goofing up on the kids. I have used the “Not Now” and “Clean up your room” several times. I am quilty of evading my quality time to letting them enjoy The playstation or the computer games. But juggling between my kids, home and my business has definetly not been easy.. So I think this poem came as a reminder of slowing down and enjoying the moment with the kids. I am not certain who the author is so if you do, please let me know and I will glady credit it to her.
I wish .. .. ..
I was so busy through the day, I did’nt take the time to play.
When you brought your games to me, I told you “Not now,” and quietly,
I cleaned the house, I’d iron and cook, but when you’d bring your story book, And ask me to sit and read to you, I’d say, “I have too much to do.”
I’d tuck you in your bed at night, you’d say your prayers, I’d dim the light.
Too quickly I’d pass through the door, I should have stayed a minute more.
Life’s much too short, each year flies past, my little boy grew up so fast.
No longer playing by my side, for me to nurture and to guide.
The books and toys are packed away, no longer are there games to play.
No precious bedtime prayers to hear, that all belongs to yester-year.
My days once busy now are calm, the hours empty and too long.
I wish I could go back and do, all the things you asked me to.
At the time you don’t realize it, but raising your child is the best time of your life !