Mothers, as a whole, are a resilient bunch.
They kind of have to be. Their hearts are beating not for one, but for two, three, four ... twenty if you're Michelle Duggar. (But let's not get into that maybe-pathology.)
Mothers are healers, short-order cooks, personal assistants, dictionaries, maids, and drill sergeants.
They are appreciators of confounding art and boosters of confidence.
They keep secrets and they share them.
They bury dead caterpillars and mourn lost toys and crashed rockets.
They bandage skinned knees and soothe hurt feelings.
They sing the same bedtime song every night for four years straight.
They mold and they shape and they hope that what comes out in the end is something as beautiful as what they started with, that gift they were given the day those heart-thieves took over their lives.
It's the most wonderful kind of robbery.
No comments:
Post a Comment