An observation of motherhood from a crack pot mom

I remember the day that I became a mother for the first time, the second time and the third time. I remember the day each of my kids graduated from high school. I, of course, remember many days in between and many days since those bench marks. They taught me to love deeper than I ever thought possible. My children knew the perfect moment to give me a hug and when to get lost. They intuitively knew how to encourage, support and strengthen me. They challenged me to the breaking point and then helped me pick-up the pieces and heal. They loved me when I was ugly and sad, Oh, the stories they could tell. They stood up for me and rallied to my side when things got tough. But mostly they loved me through it all. I was far from the perfect mother and I think that is how it was suppose to be. I parented through my brokenness, my hurt, and my pain and in return my children give me love, healing, and wholeness that could only come through each of their contributions. I am so thankful for the opportunity to raise each one of my children. I am thankful for the lessons each taught me and for the plethora of blessings that crowded into my life in the process.

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