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If I Had my Life to Live Over

I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the "Good" livingroom and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about the grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment realizing that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love yous" more "I'm sorrys", but mostly , given another shot at life, I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it , live it, and never give it back!
~written by Erma Bombeck ~
(before her battle with cancer was lost)

For moms

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it...
This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Meyer wieners and cherry kool-aid, saying, "It's ok honey, mommy's here."
This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't find their children.
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.
For all the mothers of the victims of the Colorado shooting, and the mothers of the murderers.
For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And the mothers who Don't.
What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put you hand on the back of your sleeping baby? The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?
So, this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. and for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.
This is for reading "Goodnight Moon" twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. "Just one more time".
This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2 year old who wants ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.
Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop. This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all the mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their offspring are at home.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their childrens graves.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
This is for all the mothers who sent their child to school with stomachaches, assuring then they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away!
This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go.
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without. This is for you all!!
So hang in there.
"Home is what catches you when we fall-and we all fall."