Belated Mother's Day Post

This is courtesy of my mother, who brought this to the store on Friday. I have the luxury now of seeing my sister and my mom almost every Friday; mom gets her hair done at Salon Unity two doors down, and my sis comes over and pitches in on any project at hand (yesterday it was lamps and wiring). The bonus yesterday was that my daughter Nathalie arrived there, too, and Grandma pulled this out of her purse to pass on to her, along with something else. This is a poem my sister wrote in 1996. I read it out loud to my daughter (while Linda cringed and hid her face), and barely got through it, it was so wonderful. We were all a little damp at the end!

Mother Are People

Mothers are people who cook things,
like breakfast or lunch or a snack;
Dexterous people who hook things
which button or zip up the back.

Mothers are people who blow things,
balloons and kisses and noses;
Green-thumbish people who grow things
like petunias and poppies and roses.

Mothers are people who send things,
like letters and strawberry tarts;
Magical people who mend things
like blue jeans and elbows and hearts.

Mothers are people who find things,
like mittens and homework and germs;
Fuss-budget people who mind things
like cuss words and snowballs and worms.

Mothers are people who sweep things,
like porches and cobwebs and rugs;
Soft-hearted people who keep things
like artwork, reports cards and hugs.

Mothers are people who nurse things,
a boy or a girl or a spouse;
And all in all there are worse things
than mothers to have in your house.

Warm regards, N