mother

A woman's endurance enabled your first breath.

The reason why women think men should spend a lot of money on an engagement ring is because women are the ones who get to clean up all the poop (stains and toilet bowl swirls included) that is provided by every family member living in the house until they die.

Under her thick pancake makeup, her skin had been pockmarked, but he would stare at her adoringly from his cot at night and imagine her scars were constellations, a secret map to a far-off, happy place.

She who has the excellence of home virtues, and can expend within the means of her husband, is a help in the domestic state

Under her thick pancake makeup, her sin had been pockmarked, but he would stare at her adoringly from his cot at night and imagine her scars were constellations, a secret map to a far-off, happy place.

If you remember yourself, you will remember me. I am always a part of you. I am your mother.

may my touchalways...be tenderas i would strokemother's cheekswhen she cried.

Let's accept it that we remember people only when we have some work and only our Mother_ remembers us and calls us for no reason, just to know how we are doing!

She [my mother] tapped my hand lightly with her fingers and, looking out the window, said, "You know, I've missed having a mother. It's a gaping hole. I think having a mother is one of the great things in life--one of the only things that can save you. I'm always looking for my mother and, frankly, Kitten, it's becoming exhausting, so I thought I'd ask you if you would be my mother. You just have that way about you. You're not really what anyone would call a typical daughter, but I think you have exactly what it takes to be a mother. Don't you think it's a good idea?

That night, when the creature sleeps, when he sleeps, the mother escapes into her daughters_ room. She tells her daughter that the creature__ afraid of her having too much love, too much heart. She takes a tube of lipstick and drags it across her finger like a knife, marking it across her daughter__ cheeks, red, blood, war paint.

Don't you kids get any ideas about dragging a trailer into the backyard. after you graduate from high school, i don't want to see you again.

If in poetry court she was calledto testify on matters whereI was condemned to imprisonment: parking my egoat a broken meter, line violations, forced rhyme,dealing stanzaics to children, shootingoff my mouth, getting cute, for even thislatest attempt at verse, she would tell the whole truth,she would admit from the pitof her unsung brilliance,from all of the paintings and poemsshe herself has been makingand storing in the vast empire of her singing soul, your Honor, my daughter is guiltyof plagiarizing my cells.

I don__ recall ever seeing my mother as a human being. She would always be weeping and wailing in the corner of the kitchen like a dog tied up to be tormented. My father would assail her with a hail of insults, and when her endurance broke, she would whine aloud, __hy good Lord? Why? Take me and save me._ Only then would my father stand up, take the cord out of his headdress, and whip her nonstop for half an hour, spitting at her throughout.

Still... I would have hugged my mother if we were the kind of family who hugged. If touching her weren't impossible. If her subnightie waft was not so utterly, fatally repulsive. That's how much I loved her.

Whenever anyone has asked me if wrestling is __orth it,_ meaning is the reward worth the pain, worth the travel, worth the being away from your family, I__e always answered yes. And it always felt like it was. But I naïvely assumed that when I was done wrestling, I could always go home and make up for all the time I__e missed with my family and friends. Now, going home isn__ the same, and there is nothing I can do to make up for all the time I__e spent away from my father. Instead of being proud of my accomplishments, all I feel is regret about not being there for the most important people in my life, the people who have loved me in a way that had nothing to do with wrestling. If you were to ask me today if all the reward was worth the sacrifices, I would say no. Yet I keep on because I__ not quite sure what else to do with myself and because stopping now won__ give me any more time with my father.

...But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begins.

Every family is a ghost story.

For my mother__ entire life, her mother was less a mother than splintered bits of shrapnel she carried around in her body, sharp, rusty debris that threatened to puncture an organ if she turned a certain way.