mothers

I can imagine no heroism greater than motherhood.

SHE holds the hand to help you in your First Step,She is your First Teacher,SHE holds your hand when You Fall Down,SHE is the one who guides you in Life,SHE hides you from all Trouble,SHE is sometime Mentor,SHE even nurses you when you Fall ill,SHE gives you the confidence,SHE never give False Appreciation,SHE is the one who will scold you the most on your mistake,She is the one who even Fight for you when you are right,SHE is the one who believes in you when others do not,SHE is the one who Loves you even if You don't love her,SHE is the one who gave you LIFE,Do You know Who is 'SHE'??'SHE' is Mother your own MOM...

She is the creature of life, the giver of life, and the giver of abundant love, care and protection. Such are the great qualities of a mother. The bond between a mother and her child is the only real and purest bond in the world, the only true love we can ever find in our lifetime.

I suffer from CLAUSTROPHOBIA, a fear of closed spaces.For example, I__ petrified that the WINE store will be closed before I have time to get there!!!

Just as there is no warning for childbirth, there is no preparation for the sight of a first child... There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name the moment.

I'd wrestled against the inner voice of my mother, the voice of caution, of duty, of fear of the unknown, the voice that said the world was dangerous and safety was always the first measure and that often confused pleasure with danger, the mother who had, when I'd moved to the city, sent me clippings about young women who were raped and murdered there, who elaborated on obscure perils and injuries that had never happened to her all her life, and who feared mistakes even when the consequences were minor. Why go to Paradise when the dishes aren't done? What if the dirty dishes clamor more loudly than Paradise?

Sadie heard her inside cleaning up the kitchen and wondered what dreams Betty's mother had for herself, if all mothers had them, bottled up beneath their mother exteriors.

Motherhood can be seen as a political act. (...) when adressed, disconnections can become opportunities (...) Even when sons seem to be disinterested (...), a mother's efforts are extremely important. This is how we continue to build relationship with sons.

Real women have children, wise women choose for themselves.

Preston doesn't do well with trouble. But_that's_why I'm here._That's why my name is Mommy.

The mother of an adult child sees her work completed and undone at the same time.' If this holds true, I may have to withstand not only rage, but also my undoing. Can one prepare for one's undoing? How has my mother withstood mine? Why do I continue to undo her, when what I want to express above all else is that I lover her very much?

No place in this world is, as safe as my mother__ womb,And nobody in this world is, as loving as my mother.

There's no bitch on earth like a mother frightened for her kids.

The mother memories that are closest to my heart are the small gentle ones that I have carried over from the days of my childhood. They are not profound, but they have stayed with me through life, and when I am very old, they will still be near . . . Memories of mother drying my tears, reading aloud, cutting cookies and singing as she did, listening to prayers I said as I knelt with my forehead pressed against her knee, tucking me in bed and turning down the light. They have carried me through the years and given my life such a firm foundation that it does not rock beneath flood or tempest.

I think all mothers are alike, regardless of cultural background, when it comes to illogical cleaning.

I think being a mother is the cruelest thing in the world.

You come from your mauma, you sleep in the bed with her till you're near twenty years grown, and you still don't know what haunches in the dark corners of her.

For the last four years of her life, Mother was in a nursing home called Chateins in St. Louis ... [S]ix months before she died I sent a Mother's Day card. There was a horrible, mushy poem in it. I remember feeling "vaguely guilty.