I have a friend who's mom's funeral is today.
As a tribute to her, please enjoy an article she wrote a few years back for a book titled,
I Love Being a Mom by Therese J. Borchard.
Not only was she a gifted writer, but a gifted Mother as well.
By Marie Poyer
I have Boomers. Baby Boomers.
Lots of them. Fourteen. That's lots.
They came in two varieties. Boys and girls. Seven of each.
They came to live in my heart from 1947 to 1964. They never left.
They came with tiny fingers tucked inside my heart, sticky kisses plopped upon my cheeks, and eyes of brown and eyes of blue that followed my every move.
The angels that sent them down equipped them with skates and scooters and bikes and all the toes and arms and legs to ride and pedal and scoot. And laundry.
All but one. One little girl must have hidden behind a cloud on the day the finishing touches were spread around. She stayed a few short years and went Home to open up some rooms for the rest of us at the B&B in the Sky.
They came with hot dogs and cookies, diapers and skinned knees, homework and carpools, chocolate and Cheerios, socks that never match, footballs and baseball bats and swim meets and proms. And laundry.
There came a day when they gave their hearts away to that cute boy from English Lit or that little redhead at 31 Flavors. There were bridal gowns and flowers, tuxes and boutonnieres, new homes and cars and starry eyes and dreams.
Now I have Boomettes. Baby Boomers' Babies.
Lots of them. Thirty-five. That's lots.
They came in two varieties too. Boys and girls.
They came mixed with Irish and Italian, Polish and
German, Dutch and Latino, Jewish and Lebanese, French and Yugoslavian, Native American and Canadian. And laundry.
One day I blinked and the Boomettes were Boomin'! And the sticky kisses keep on coming and the eyes still follow me around and so many fingers, large and small, are tucked inside my heart.
So many years. So much love to give and take. So much laundry. So many socks that were impossilbe to match.
I love being a Mom.